Hogwarts - A New Era
by AureliaRiddle
Summary: Think that Ravenclaws are stereotypical nerds? Your opinion is about to be drastically changed. Set in 2018, two witches in Ravenclaw tell a tale of adventure in this much-beloved fantasy world of Harry Potter.
1. chapter one

chapter one

It was with an agrieved sigh that Professor Mcgonagall slipped away from the massive castle at midnight.

It has been her home for a very long time. In fact, she has probably lived in this same very location for possibly a little over sixty years. Not in the exact same place, of course, for now she lived in her own quarters, as did all of the professors teaching at Hogwarts, whilst in her youth she had lived in a girl's dormitory of Gryffindor tower.

It was the early morning when she arrived, wet and disgruntled, in the gloomy and overcast London. The morning frost had caused her breath to send clouds of smoke into the air, and she shook away the bits of rain that had gathered behind her ears. It was only when she was safely in the ladies' when first her head, then her legs, grew back back, and she left the cubicle to examine her appearance.

Thin, unsmiling and with an imposing height, Professor Mcgonagall was one whom people could not help but respect the moment their eyes landed on her. She had not wanted to complete this task, for she was getting older, and apparation no longer suited her quite as well, but she was the only one with any experience at all in retrieving an orphan from a muggle orphanage in London, and the only professor at the school with the faintest idea of how to dress and seem like a muggle - it helped that she had been raised like a muggle in her youth - so she had naturally been tasked with this introduction of an orphan.

Satisfied at last after pulling back the last, untangled, strand of hair, she left the bathroom with her head held high, and emerald eyes stern and with no signs of humour. It had been a long time since her job to introduce the hidden wizarding world to young witches and wizards, and she couldn't bring herself to feel the same inane excitement her younger self had felt on her first day of informing a pupil.

The orphanage was considered small for an orphanage. It was located down the bend of Myrtle Street, and Professor Mcgonagall was reminded of the shy, quiet girl in Hufflepuff who had turned into a moping, moaning, Moaning Myrtle ghost. If her initial impression of the orphanage was that it was a sad, gloomy place, this street name did nothing to change that.

The tall, imposing black gates were rusted and had sharp spikes, but the door of the gate was wide open, so Professor Mcgonagall took the chance and walked right in. The orphanage itself seemed reasonably well-maintained. It had white painted, and also beige coloured walls with a black roof. The door to the orphanage was already wide open, and the Professor could already see boys and girls shuffling around barefeet. Some were cleaning tables, some were sweeping the floors. All had shoulders that were curved inward, as though they were trying to hide themselves. Their ages ranged from the youngest being eight, and the eldest being about sixteen, it seemed. He was an acne-ridden guy, with pock-marked skin and a gangly frame that was not at all appealing, so it was quite understandable why he was still working in the orphanage.

She knocked on the door. The boy, along with the other orphans, rose their thin heads. They glanced at one another, before a single glare from the oldest sent the eight year old scrambling away, presumably to fetch someone of greater authority.

Professor Mcgonagall was right, for the boy returned with a tall and thin woman in her late thirties dressed in smart business clothes.

"Good morning, are you here to adopt a child?" she asked.

Professor Mcgonagall got a whiff of an unmistakeable scent of alcohol.

"No," she said politely, "I am here to see Isadora Rosier, and to talk to her about enrolling in my school."

The lady blinked. "Ah, I see. About her grades, ain't it? Isadora is a smart kid, see. No wonder a fine lady like yourself is coming to seek her out. But are you sure about wanting her? Isadora has looks of an angel, but she is not one."

"Yes, I am quite sure," Professor Mcgonagall said cooly, with a steely note to her voice.

The lady shrugged as though to say "your loss", and led her further into the orphanage.

The orphanage was a clean place, the walls without a speck of dirt, and the floors were equally spotless. But there was an air of gloominess in it - in the wide open dormitory doors with the curious children craning their heads to have a better glimpse of the matron and the unfamiliar old lady, and the sadness steeped into their faces. But Professor Mcgonagall knew she had no place meddling with their lives.

One after another, they kept passing dormitories, until it simply couldn't be possible for the orphanage to have any more room for yet another dormitory where Isadora resided. But the matron led her up yet another flight of stairs, and onto a dark, dimly lit attic, with only two doors, none big enough for a dormitory.

"N'ne liked her, did they. Said she was a creep," the matron slurred, "'nd I've to admit even I meself am sometimes scar'd of her too. 'Tis the spawn of the devil, she is. Even her name says so."

Minerva was reminded of how the town had felt regarding the choice of her name when she was little. Her dislike deepened further, but she said nothing.

"-and they're scared o'her living with 'em, so she lives here now," the lady said, and Professor Mcgonagall finally understood why they were in the attic, "Honestly, I don't blame 'em. I'd ne'er want to live with her, neither."

The matron knocked on the door.

"Isadora! A lady is here to see you!" she called, her voice a painful screech that made even Professor Mcgonagall wince slightly. Of course, it may also be because of the name, for it reminded her of someone she could never forget...

The door was opened with a creak, and Professor Mcgonagall entered what had to be the smallest, and most inappropriate, place to raise a child.

The room was exceeding small. She was certain could have stretched out her two arms and been able to easily touch the two sides of the walls. The length was not much better, lending only enough room for a small bed of metal, which creaked, and a thin grey blanket on the white bedsheets, that looked old and worn. A small desk was placed to the immediate side of the bed with little room in between, with a simple wooden chair pushed neatly into the desk, and a small chest was placed in front of the bed, most likely because there wasn't any space to put a wardrobe. The windows at the end, slightly above both the bed and the desk, had been pushed open forcefully, such that the buffering wind never halted in its cold frenzy - that day seemed to be particularly unhappy - and propped open by a thick stick stuck between the window and the ledge.

A small girl sat on the bed, causing the bed springs to creak as she shifted slightly into a more formal position, sitting with crossed legs instead of her legs being in front of her, one folded under another. Professor Mcgonagall did not know what to make of her, because for a girl her height, she had a surprisingly solid figure, and her gaze on Professor Mcgonagall was defiant and defensive. She looked malnutritious, now, but it seemed as though she had had a family who had given her enough to eat before, because her bones were big, and well developed, although she looked like she had lost a lot of weight in a short amount of time. She still had baby fat on her cheeks, like all other eleven year olds, but her skin was tight over her strong bone structure, and the clothes she wore hung loosely over her. Professor Mcgonagall could not help but wonder if she had not been given enough to eat, or she had suffered a loss and could not bring herself to.

She was undeniably attractive, even at only eleven. With a strong, defined jaw and a square, set face that most girls did not have, Isadora had an exotic look, with her intriguing nose, a cross between a high-set nose and a button nose. Her cheekbones were not as well defined, but they fit very well with her strong jaw, and her eyebrows shadowed her eyes. Unlike the unnatural paleness of her skin, her hair held a natural dark shade, as did her eyes. Only when the light that shined through the dirty, undusted windows hit her the right angle did Mcgonagall realise that she did not have black eyes, but amber-brown orbs that gazed at her behind a pair of rectangular black plastic glasses.

She was tying back her untidy waves of black tresses as she eyed them mutinously. Somehow, the messiness of her hair only made her seem more personable. That had no logic behind it, but it truly did.

Professor Mcgonagall turned around to stare at the matron for a while, who took a moment to realise what she was insinuating, and flushed.

"Right, right. I'll, umm, I'll be outside when you're done," she said in a rush, nearly tripping over herself in her haste to get out, and closing the door shut quickly behind her with a creak.

Professor Mcgonagall waited a while, before taking out her wand and waving it at the door, ensuring that no eavesdropping would occur.

By then, Isadora was just staring at Mcgonagall. She held her elbows close to her thin body, emphasizing on how skinny and fragile she looked, especially in that threadbare old shirt that was draped over her small frame and the cotton shorts she were wore were equally unfitting, engulfing her in their loose embrace, but her sharp chin, that was jutting out from where she was looking upwards while gazing at Professor Mcgonagall, told her that the girl was no pushover.

"Are you...Isadora Rosier?" Professor Mcgonagall made sure to check her letter again to make sure she got the right name. It was a confirmation - she had never gone to the wrong person, but just in case, she'd better ask. After all, the matron was drunk.

A nod.

"My name is Professor Mcgonagall. I am a teacher of a boarding school in Scotland, and I would like to inform you that you have been accepted into Hogwarts School," Professor Mcgonagall said, "It is a school of magic, for witches and wizards."

She waited, staring at Isabel, waiting for the outburst. The muggle-raised always did that. Some yelled at her for being a lunatic who ought to be locked up in an asylum, some shouted in joy and exhilaration, some scoffed.

But Isabel did neither.

The small little girl on the small bed blinked, and slipped a bookmark into the weathered and slightly yellowed book that she had been reading prior to Professor Mcgonagall's arrival, before putting it aside. Her eyes then rose to meet Professor Mcgonagall's.

"How was I accepted?" she asked calmly. This was the first time that Professor Mcgonagall had heard her speak, and it was to her surprise that she learned that the girl in fact had an average voice that was slightly lower than most girls her age. The voice was, however, slightly husky, as if it had been left unused for a long time.

Professor Mcgonagall felt a pang of pity.

"By performing magic. When you perform magic, there is a charmed quill at the school who writes your name down into a book, which we will read and send out letters on your eleventh birthday. If you do not have parents who are capable of magic, however, a professor comes to inform you of your acceptance, and brings the letter that contains the list of all the things you will need for school. You start school on the first of September. I wrote you an instruction sheet on how to go to school on the first of September, and put it in your letter, so you need not worry about not being able to find your way."

Isadora took the pro-offered letter, letting her eyes feast slowly on the blood-red seal, before slowly breaking the seal and opening the letter with careful hands. She had gentle piano hands, Mcgonagall realised, long, slender, with a calloused right hand - there were bumps from writing too hard and too fast, on both her middle and ring finger - and when she briefly showed her palm, Mcgonagall could see the three blisters that were on the bottom of her index, middle and ring fingers.

She read through the letter slowly, taking her time to savour every word, it seemed. The letters were self-explanatory, and for some reason, she seemed to believe in every single word written on it easily without a loud outburst, unlike most, for her next question was, "Where do I get the money to buy all that stuff?"

As she spoke, the girl moved again, almost like she was restless. Her first cross-legged stance turned into a position where her legs were folded to form a diamond. The loose cotton sack that she called a shirt once again moved in waves just as another gust of wind entered, but Isadora didn't seem afraid.

"There is a trust fund for students who cannot afford to buy the books they need for Hogwarts. However, you also have the choice to do a blood test, so that if your blood test shows that you have parents with a vault of considerable amounts of money, then you will retrieve your money from there and not need the trust fund."

"And how do you get there?" Isadora asked. Throughout the whole conversation, Isadora never showed a single emotion, her eyes looking into Professor Mcgonagall's with a look of extreme concentration.

"I will bring you there," Professor Mcgonagall said, and they left the dingy, tiny little bedroom.

Professor Mcgonagall led the way, making use of the underground. Isadora followed attentively, trying to capture to memory how the way looked like. She found herself soon at a pub where most people in muggle London glanved over as though there were nothing there, instead of the bustling pub with odd people in hats and cloaks.

"Doesn't anyone else see this place?" Isadora asked curiously.

"It is charmed so that only people with magic can see it," Professor Mcgonagall replied, immediately understand Isadora's question.

"Professor Mcgonagall!" a female voice said in surprise and welcome. Isadora saw that it came from a tall and blonde haired lady in earthy coloured clothes - a dirty green hat, and brown robes the colour of mud.

"Mrs Longbottom," Professor Mcgonagall said, unfazed.

"Would you like to stay? Try out some of my newest recipes?" she offered with a bright, vibrantly wide smile.

"I'm afraid not, Mrs Longbottom. I have to show a new student around to get her ready for Hogwarts," Professor Mcgonagall replied without hesitation.

That is when the landlady turned her attention to the small, easily overlooked girl, who was staring at her with mild interest.

"I though Headmistresses didn't bring students around?" the landlady asked curiously with wide, blue eyes.

"Not usually, no. But it seems no one at the castle is capable of retrieving an orphan, so they asked me to do so instead," Professor Mcgonagall said.

"I see. Well, nice shopping, both of you. Maybe later you could come by and try out the recipes?" the landlady asked.

"Maybe," said the tall, strict witch with her Scottish brogue, leading Isadora on, to the brick wall, and tapped the right brick.

The bricks rearranged themselves and revealed the street behind it.

It was bustling with color and noise, with a lot of eye-catching things to see from all directions, making Isadora feel quite overwhelmed by the sheer amount of brilliant colours and movinf pictures and whatnot, but the professor headed straight for the huge, marble white building at the end of the cobbled street, and she followed, still attempting to stare at everything all at once.

There was a bronze Common Welsh Green dragon statue in front of the building, rearing up, and roaring with its wide mouth. There was a plaque that said it was the dragon Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger rode to escape from Gringotts not too long ago, for it was only a few years back, and these people mentioned her probably still alive. However, at the bottom of the huge statue were names, etched into the bronze. There was a title that wrote "Great people who died fighting in the war", and Isadora ran her eyes over just several names, not by order of alphabets "Severus Snape, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin, Amelia Bones" just to name a few. But they did not stop to admire the recent war memorial, and continued on the way into Gringotts.

Gringotts seemed to be entirely manned by little creatures with sharp noses and sharp ears. They were even shorter than Isadora was, and seemed to all be busy doing one thing or another. Professor Mcgonagall strode up to the Head Goblin right at the end of the huge, entirely marble hall, and waited with so much authority that the goblin had no choice but to look up.

"Miss Rosier would like to take a blood test," she said.

The head goblin frowned.

"A blood test. Are you sure?" he asked.

"She would like to know her heritage, and her blood," Professor Mcgonagall said, ending the conversation with a firm line, and the head goblin sighed.

"Grithall!" he snapped his fingers. Another goblin appeared, a far younger one. "Could you bring me the blood test parchment and the crystal dagger," the head goblin commanded. The other goblin left without a word, and returned soon after with all the equipment before withdrawing. The blood test parchment looked like average parchment, but the crystal dagger threw light around with its icy-blue blade, and was mesmerizing.

"Take the crystal dagger and cut a small part of your skin," he said. He instructed her on what to do as Isadora tiptoed to do it, and her hand was shaking slightly - not out of fear, mind, but merely because her hand was naturally not very steady - but she managed to cut it, and turn her palm into a fist, squeezing it to drip down the droplets of blood which hissed in contact with the parchment, as though being painfully boiled, and soon, words began to appear. Her wound, however, healed as quickly as it had been cut.

Isadora Adriana Rosier

Blood status: Pureblood

Paternal Line:

Rosier

Selwyn

Black

Peverell

Maternal Line:

Mckinnon

Fawley

Proudfoot

Father: Evan Rosier (deceased)

Mother: Marlene Mckinnon (deceased)

Only living heir to the House of Rosier, Mckinnon, Peverell. First in line to the House of Selwyn. Second in line to the House of Black.

Vaults currently owned:

The Vault of Peverell

The Vault of Rosier

The Vault of Mckinnon

Vault 725 - a trust fund which had been set up under I. 's name prior to birth in 1981 by Evan Rosier, deceased father. Gringotts key currently kept in blood chest.

All rules still apply, and the minor will only be allowed full access to all the other vaults when reaches majority at seventeen years.

Professor Mcgonagall's face had gone frightfully white by now, staring at the names with a look of disbelief.

"Professor? Is that something I should know?" Isadora asked, probing.

Professor Mcgonagall regained her senses, snapping back into her usual stern exterior, shaking her head. Isadora did not look like she was convinced in any way, and Professor Mcgonagall did not blame her.

"Is it possible for you to retrieve the keys to Miss Rosier's vaults?" Professor Mcgonagall asked the head goblin. She could not stop looking at Isadora now, comparing her to her old student, wondering if she would be placed in Gryffindor, following her mother, or Slytherin like her father, and needed a distraction. And how she was still alive.

Though now, come to think of it, that wavy black hair seemed to be a characteristic of the Rosier family, and the amber-brown eyes a mix between Rosier's brown eyes and Marlene's amber ones, and her build was...Stop!

"I can hand you the blood chest that holds the key to the trust fund, entrusted to us by Lord Rosier before his death, and Miss Rosier will have to open it the usual way - by blood. But I am afriad I cannot retrieve the Mckinnon one. There is only one key made for every vault, and the original key appears to have been misplaced by Miss Mckinnon prior to her death," the head goblin said, "As for the Rosier vault, all that is needed is her blood, and a goblin, of course."

"But I thought this parchment states that I cannot enter any vault?" Isadora asked, thoroughly confused.

The head goblin sniffed. "You can visit the Vaults, but you are only permitted full access to the vault that is under your name, which is a trust fund that your father had set up for you until you reach your majority, because no minor below the age of seventeen is allowed to touch anything other than family heirlooms in the old, pureblood vaults. You can own the key, yes, but we goblins will be watching you, and will only allow you to take the family heirlooms from the vaults and nothing else."

His voice got softer, more threatening, at the end, almost cruel in the way his words ended with a sibilant sigh.

"Well, I suppose you will have to get your money from your vault, then," Professor Mcgonagall said, "You don't need Hogwarts' money after all."

To say the head goblin looked curious was an understatement, for he was now overtly gazing at the loose shirt and shorts, both threadbare and fraying on the edges, that gave her a poor street muggle appearance. And to see a pureblood of such prestigious ancestry wearing such baggy muggle clothing was not a common sight, to say the least. And the suggestion that she was about to take money from a school...

"Can I go to my vault?" Isadora asked, glaring defensively at the head goblin, guessing rather accurately where his thoughts were currently at.

The head goblin snapped his fingers again, calling for Grithall and instructing him severely. The young goblin bowed, and retreated, before returning in a few seconds with an old, rusty and a frankly unassuming small box that was shaped like a chest. There were, however, no key holes or locks but a piece of metal joining the opening of the chest to the bottom of the chest.

Grithall placed the chest gently on the counter, and told Isadora to stretch out her palm in a surprisingly softer and more melodious tone compared to the other goblin's harsh and scaly voice. She did as she was told, hissing quietly as he pricked her index finger with the dagger, and used one leathery hand to push her finger onto the metal piece, dragging it down the metal from top to bottom, smudging the blood all over the metal. The prick healed in an instant as there was a soft click, and the chest opened itself, revealing a golden key with the numbers in black blocks writing "725" on the top part of the key.

"Grithall! Take them to Vault 725!" the head goblin yelled now that she had gotten the key. She was about to leave the chest there, but the head goblin told her it was her family heirloom, and to take it with her to the vault, even if she may not need it anymore. "Keep the parchment with your results safely, too," the head goblin warned.

So she picked it up and let herself be led by a short goblin, clutching the ancient and small chest, and tucking the folded blood parchment in her pocket.

Grithall whistled when they reached the railroad. A cart came, and he led them down into the cart, before speeding downwards into the dark depths of Gringotts.

Vault 725, even though it was just a trust fund, was still set up by one of the wealthiest wizards, and therefore its vault was deep underground, that took quite a while to reach even after travelling at breakneck speed. Isadora found herself quite enjoying the ride in spite of the chills it gave her, and a flapping shirt that felt uncomfortable. Professor Mcgonagall, on the other hand, seemed to be of an entirely different opinion as she looked green.

When they finally arrived, Grithall instructed Isadora to take the key and push it into the lock. Isadora twisted it, and the Vault door opened by itself with a shudder and a creak.

Isadora could not help but notice that even the door was made of some dark and polished wood with golden lines that seemed to form rose vines rising up, and thorns. A huge red rose was in the centre, made of gold, marking out whose vault it was.

Mounds and mounds of gold, silver and bronze greeted their eyes. Even Mcgonagall, who had never been poor, and had even inherited a huge sum of money by the pureblood she had married before his death, could not help but gasp as well. The money was so bountiful that it rose to the very height of the vault itself, and for a trust fund, it was sure filled with tons, far more than a student needed to get past Hogwarts.

Well, she supposed that explained why the pureblood families were so proud. They were loaded, and they probably didn't even need to work for many generations to come. That vault on its own could easily support a family of ten whilst allowing that one family to be financially independent without having to work a single day.

"What...currency is this?" Isadora asked instead, the exact opposite of her expected expression of awe.

And Mcgonagall remembered that, in spite of her very pureblood line, she had been raised in a muggle orphanage, so of course she had no clue of what to do with all that.

"That's wizarding money. 29 bronze knuts to a sickle, and 17 sickles to a galleon," Mcgonagall said. Grithall was kind enough to hand Isadora a velvet money bag, and Isadora used her hands to scoop up handfulls of gold, silver and bronze, and stuffed them inside the money bag. As Isadora moved deeper into the Vault - unnecessarily, seeing as all the money she needed was out front - she spotted a leather trunk as well with a number of keys that were stuffed in the lock. Quickly glancing around, she slipped the keys into the pocket of her baggy shorts before picking up the trunk.

After the money bag was filled all the way to the brim with jiggling coins, for Isadora had not known how much she would need, Isadora left the vault, ignoring the trapdoor on the floor that she had seen when rummaging for more coins and was sure that neither the professor nor the goblin had seen, thankfully.

After that, they left Gringotts, and Professor Mcgonagall led her to buy her school equipment, including a potions kit, a pewter cauldron (she'd have bought the gold one, because pewter would probably be outgrown in just a couple years, but Mcgonagall insisted), and went to get her cloaks done, too.

It seemed that Mcgonagall was determined to save the best for last, because after shopping for all the other necessities, she brought Isadora to Flourish and Blotts. Although they had started shopping in the morning, it was well past noon when they ate their lunch at the Leaky Cauldron, to Mrs Longbottom's delight, and then returned to Diagon Alley to buy her school books.

Flourish and Blotts was a bookstore wonder. It had a glass door with ebony frame that chined she opened the door, and her eyes were greeted with thousands and thousands of new and shiny books. There were all kinds of colourful books that taught you spells, vintage looking history books that smelled of fresh leather, and unwritten new books newly bound with leather that were so beautiful Isadora itched to buy one, even though she knew she would have no use for it.

Professor Mcgonagall apparently knew the store very well, for she immediately brought Isadora to all the right places to buy her school books. Isadora was tempted to add on others to the growing number of books she carried in her hands, but Mcgonagall frowned when she took up the book called "Wards for the Wary" and "The Book of Invisibility", before putting them back onto the shelves and choosing out several for Isadora that would be more suitable for her instead, including "An Exclusive Introduction to Transfiguration" and "Useful Charms in your Daily Life" that taught you how to fold your clothing and wash your stuff without having to do anything other than flick your wand.

Isadora far preferred the book "Wards for the Wary", but just bought the books that Professor Mcgonagall had suggested with a heavy heart. It was probably best not to anger her school Headmistress, who could expel her before she could say "Hogwarts".

"What does the list mean when they say you can either bring a cat, toad or owl?" Isadora asked after she left Flourish and Blotts. It was a very calculated move, for she wanted a pet and it did not look like Mcgonagall was going to let her buy one since the only place they haven't been to so far was the wand shop, and they were headed in that general direction.

"It means that you can bring a pet to school if you so wish," Mcgongall replied. "Can I buy one?" Isadora asked curiously, raising her eyebrows.

Mcgonagall pursed her lips, making them even thinner than they already were. "I suppose you could," she said hesitantly, "What would you like? A cat, a toad, or an owl?"

"An owl," Isadora said instantly without hesitation. That was, without doubt, the best choice of the three. Who would want to keep a cat? And a cat was such a common household pet. Isadora wanted something more exotic, and an owl was the only one.

Professor Mcgonagall sighed.

"If you want an owl, the best place to get it is at Eeylops Owl Emporium. It's this way," she said, leading the way, being reminded instantly of her old student's owl - a tiny grey furball that often careened why into dishes and pitched the cereal and other food over at the dining table, to their immense dissatisfaction. True to her house, the girl had always argued that it was still young, and therefore had an excuse for being so clumsy, and when the grey snowy owl finally grew older, he did have a plummage of entirely white feathers, but he did not get any less clunsy - for he still made it a habit to knock into silver goblets and such.

Evan Rosier's owl was much different. True to his blood status, he had a fine, handsome eagle owl with a myriad of grey and brown. His was the epitome of handsome perfection, and possibly the most agile owl of the time - the owl was well-behaved all the time. It had even once managed to swoop down and catch a dungbomb that had been hurled at poor Severus' head just a hair's breadth away from the poor boy's face.

Professor Mcgonagall wondered what owl would choose her. The animal that chose you told you a lot about their personality. That's why they only included cats, owls and toads on the list. Other average animals were not capable of choosing their owners except for the three above. Toads that could sing well generally said that there was a lot to the people they had chosen than meets the eye. Owls that kept crashing into things told you that the person, namely one Marlene Mckinnon, was generally brutally honest and straightforward, to the point of clumsiness. Cats that were quiet and intelligent told you that person was an intelligent person.

Stuff like that.

"I'll be waiting outside," said Professor Mcgonagall as Isadora glanced at her, before opening the glass door with a telltale shrill ringing of a bell, and slipping into the dark and dingy owl emporium.

For a while, she could not see. It took a while for Isadora to adjust to looking around in such a dark place. When she finally got used to it, a man was standing in front of her.

The man was dressed in deep brown robes. He had abandoned his cloak, seeing as the place was warm with the occasional cries of the owls, and his neck was shining with beads of sweat. He was a slightly portly man with a round belly and a more stocky figure, but the cheerful, kindly smile he had on when he saw her put her at ease.

"Hogwarts?" he asked. Isadora nodded, feeling thankful that he did not seem to change his polite attitude toward her because of her muggle clothes, and the cloak she had clasped on to hide her huge shirt and baggy, fraying shorts.

"Looking for the right owl? What type do you favour?" he asked cheerily.

Isadora shook her head, unsure and dumbfounded. Her access to information was very much limited, even though she lived in the modern times where information could be found at a click of a button, and when she was younger she had never thought it useful to research on owls.

"Hmm...Why don't you walk around a bit, tell me which type of owl you find yourself liking better?" he suggested.

Isadora nodded, and did as he told her to. She walked down the dark aisles, notocing that they had been sorted by species - she could tell them apart by minute details such as the ear tufts or the colour of their feathers - and in the end found herself preferring the ones with the ear tufts and mottled feathers on the whole.

"So? What strikes your fancy?" the shop owner asked suddenly, popping out of seemingly nowhere. Taking it in her stride, Isadora pointed at the last few rows where tawny owls and eagle owls and screech owls were perched, some in cages, and some on their perches.

The man raised his eyebrows at once.

"Aha! You have spectacular taste, young Miss. Let's see," he said, his brows creasing as he strode down that nearest aisle with tawny owls.

After a while, with Isadora hesitantly trailing along behind him, he picked out an owl - a quiet, slender and red coloured tawny owl. He coaxed it with admirable skill onto her huge hand and held it out for Isadora to take it from him. Isadora warily took several steps toward it, but to both their surprise, after taking the fourth step, its wings fluttered in discomfort, and it took off with a screech of protest, landing with a rustle of wings on its perch, and closing its eyes once again.

The shopkeeper nodded. "Not that one, then," he muttered, stating out an obvious fact as he turned down the bend to the next aisle of perches. This one was inhibited by screech owls and eagle owls, visible by their tufted ears. He picked out yet another owl, this time an eagle owl with mottled gray feathers.

This owl didn't even wait until she took a step forward. Just mid-stride, it was already airborne and flapping away, inducing the flapping of wings and rattling of cages of other owls.

"Not that one, too?" he said to himself, "What about...this?"

This took a while, with him variating between gray eagle owls, red-brown tawny owls, and screech owls. At last, he held out a small but compact in size screech owl who fluttered his wings, revealing an underside of grey and different brownish hues with even the colour of dried blood which was a mixture of brown and orange, and landed on her shoulder.

This was in truth the first time Isadora had ever interacted with any animal at all, and to be honest, she was quite uncomfortable at first. But the sense of familiarity regarding the weight on her shoulders slowly allowed her to drop her unease, and she no longer held a shrug or an uncomfortable feel when the small screech owl was sitting on her shoulder.

"Aha!" the shopkeeper said again as he eyed the owl. The owl shifted from her shoulder to her arm, where she held it up for it to rest and it swivelled its head to face the shopkeeper, no longer looking at her with its bright, amber-yellow eyes and prominant, wide-set feather tufts. It had a curved bill, Isadora noticed, as well as raptorial claws. At least that was what she gathered after being so desperate as to read a book on "birds of prey" in the orphanage.

"You will be wanting a cage, yes? And owl treats as well? The owl is five galleons, and a cage is nine sickles. And you'll be wanting owl treats? That will be twenty knuts per pack," he said.

Isadora was careful to withdraw only the right amount and not let the shop owner see how much she truly had. He may have been friendly when doing business with her, but it always paid to be careful. After extracting the amount without jiggling the money bag, she handed the galleons, sickles and knuts to him and waited for him to count the money as she carefully slipped the moneybag back into her pocket, feeling the heavy weight drop in her pocket, before he bade her goodbye, and she left the owl shop struggling, trying to hold both a cage and a bag of owl treats, which ended up being quite a big bag.

She dumped the bag of owl treats rather unceremoniously into her pewter cauldron when she finally managed to come out of the shop. Professor Mcgonagall eyed her with raised eyebrows as she now attempted to cart around a cage, an empty trunk and a pewter cauldron with a whole cauldron of her things.

"I would have thought the idea of moving your things into the trunk might have been a better idea," she said. Isadora flushed, not wanting to admit the true reason she was reluctant to open the trunk. She had wanted to do so, away from prying eyes, but it appeared she had no choice now but to open it and pray nothing particularly precious was inside. She wanted to keep anything like that for herself.

With bated breath, she withdrew the numerous keys in her left pocket, and pushed the first key into the trunk, twisting it so that it was unlocked. She carefully lifted the trunk, and thankfully, it was just like any other trunk, except imbued with an extension charm that could not have been seen from the outside such that all her things could easily fit inside.

Professor Mcgonagall raised an eyebrow.

"Undetectable extension charm?" she commented in what sounded like high admiration, "This has to be your father's work, Miss Rosier. Your father was great at charms. The best of his year, and he had a lot of competition."

Isadora felt a deep sense of pride in her father as she carefully lifted the heavy cauldron. She tottered under the weight, nearly toppling over, and in the end, she took out a huge number of her textbooks, which had contributed to the bulk of the heavy weight, and dumped them in first, before letting the cauldron follow suit immediately after.

Professor Mcgonagall handed her the wrapped brown packages of her clothing and other Hogwarts related equipment, and she dumped them in too, before snapping the trunk, which had a deceivingly small size on the outside, shut with a satisfying click.

And last but not least, the wand shop. It was the shop that Isadora had been most eagerly awaiting, whether or not she had shown that through her calm and expressionless face.

Ollivanders' was a small shop in a small part of Diagon Alley, and as the sun was already casting parting rays, few people seemed to be around that area. Professor Mcgonagall opened the door with a jingle of the bell, and sat down on the seat near the door.

There was a tingle of old magic that Isadora could feel. It spoke out to her, and felt strangely familiar. She felt suddenly obligated to keep silent, as though this were a strict library.

Isadora carefully made her way forward, and rapped smartly on the counter with her knuckles.

A tall but hunched old man with pure white hair appeared, hobbling forward with a walking stick. He was wrinkled and worn, thin and fragile, but his eyes lit up when he saw Isadora standing by the counter.

"And who might you be?" he asked, before taking note of the Professor, "Professor Mcgonagall! What a pleasant surprise. Bringing along a muggle-born, are we?"

"A pureblood, as a matter of fact," Professor Mcgonagall said.

Ollivander casted his enormous blue orbs at her again, examining her as though trying to find some resemblance and some clue of who she might be related to. He might be wizened, but it seemed his bright, powerful gaze did not hide his ever-present curiosity, in search for knowledge. "Who are your parents?"

Isadora frowned slightly. Her right hand sought the comfort of the parchment in her pocket as she said, "Evan Rosier and Marlene Mckinnon."

And Ollivanders eyes widened even further. Somehow, even though they haven't blinked for a very long time, the eyes were not watery, but increasingly intrigued. "Rosier and Mckinnon? I must admit I never saw that coming. Did you, Professor Mcgonagall?" Ollivander asked. She shook her head stiffly.

"But there child is only eleven?" he asked quietly, his eyes not leaving Professor Mcgonagall's. She shook her head almost imperceptibly again.

Isadora frowned. There was something odd going on.

"Right," he said, clapping his fingers, breaking the unreadable gaze from the Professor. A measuring tape began to measure Isadora, jumping everywhere to take a measurement.

"I recall every wand I make, Miss Rosier," said the wizened old man, "Proffesor, your wand is fir and dragon heartstring, nine and a half inches, stiff, correct?"

"Yes," she replied.

"And your father...My, what a fine young man for a Slytherin. Died a brave death fighting off one of the most powerful and experienced duelers of all time," Ollivander said.

Professor Mcgonagall snorted, and he sent a glare her way.

"His was an aspen wand, ten and a quarter inches, pliable," Ollivander said, "As for your mother, on the other hand...She was a difficult one match. Unlike your father, who found the wand for him after only a few tries, your mother took hours to finally land her hands on the black walnut wand that she carried to her grave. Eleven and a half inches, rigid."

He paused for a while as he scrambled to the back of the shop to carefully withdraw a single long box.

"What about you, though, Miss Rosier? What wand will choose you in the end? Will you be just as adept at charmwork as your parents were?" he asked rhetorically as he lay the box on the table and took over the cover, revealing the pale wand underneath."

He clapped his hands together, and the crazy measuring tape that was trying to measure the length between her two nostrils, jumped back onto the counter, and stopped moving. He took the wand carefully, and handed it to Isadora to hold.

"Elm and unicorn hair, ten and three quarters," he said, holding out the pale wand. Isadora stared at it, unsure of what to do.

"Well?" he demanded, "Give it a wave!"

She barely took it from his hand when the wand got snatched away, and kept into its box again. Ollivander went back to his shelves, examining them carefully.

"Hmm...what about this? Yes, acacia and phoenix feather, nine inches exactly," Ollivander proclaimed.

Isadora took the wand and was about to wave it when Ollivander snatched it right back.

"No, no, no, obviously not," he said. Isadora had no idea what he was looking for, but she was getting more and more uncomfortable as the number of rejected wands grew higher and higher, one box stacked on top of another. Especially when she waved the wand - she just felt so foolish when she did so, sometimes even as if someone else's hand had been sewn onto hers. But for some reason, Ollivander just seemed to get happier and happier with every rejected wand, and Isadora began to feel nervous that she would never get one, and uneasy about him.

"Tricky customer, indeed," she heard him mutter, "But no worries, there is a wand here that will match you, never fear." She had no idea of he was talking to himself, or to her.

As the hour clock ticked, Isadora grew more and more anxious. Only the reminder that her mother had spent hours searching for the right wand too kept her from being driven insane by the odd old man.

At last, he held out another wand. This one was a dark coloured, slender wand with a rich deep hue and intricate carvings on the wand itself that gave it an air of mystery that drew Isadora to it in an instant. She took the wand, and there was a flash of bright blue light so fast and so vivid that it blinded them all for a second, causing unseen winds to whip their cloaks and buffett them with a wildness that should neither exist in the summer, nor in a small shop.

"Bravo! Oh, bravo! At last your wand has chosen you. Beech wood and dragon heartstring, thirteen and three quarter inches, unyielding. I remember this wand very well, Miss Rosier. This particular heartstring was from a Peruvian Vipertooth, and you have no idea how difficult it was to get it from him - he fought tooth and nail, and it took about a hundred stunners all at once just to take him down," Ollivander said in admiration, "This wand is a fighter, I can tell you that. Use it well, Miss Rosier, use it well."

There was an undeniable spark of youth and vitality when he described his tale that had not been seen in him previously before.

She handed him the seven galleons, and with Ollivander bowing from within the shop, left with Professor Mcgonagall in tow.

Professor Mcgonagall, to Isadora's great surprise, for her impression of her so far was of a stern and no-nonsense witch, allowed her to stop by the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Isadora scrambled into the brightly coloured shop, and took her time looking at all the different products. She was quite tempted to purchase most of the things in the shop, but in the end left with only several boxes from the skiving snackbox collection, including fever fudges and fainting fancies and puking pastille, knowing quite well that in the muggle orphanage, having a nosebleed would not excuse you from duty. On the other, having a fever, fainting, and puking were all things that would grant her absence from dreary tasks. She also bought the peruvian instant darkness powder and several decoy detonators, thinking them as useful buggers that could potentially aid her.

Professor Mcgonagall met her outside when she had successfully hidden all the things she had bought. Isadora strongly suspected that Professor Mcgonagall had the general idea that she had purchased quite a number of "useful" things from the shop, but seemed determined to pretend that she had no idea, from letting her browse the shop on her own and waiting outside instead, to explicitly informing her that if such objects from the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes were to be seen in her possession, then she would have no choice but to confiscate them as her headmistress.

They had dinner once again at the Leaky Cauldron. This time, they were joined by both Mrs Longbottom and Mr Longbottom, who introduced himself to Isadora as the Hogwarts' Herbology Professor. They had a pleasant evening, before Professor Mcgongagall dropped her off at the orphanage again, and she returned to her room with a heavy heart.


	2. chapter two

**chapter two**

Under the pretext of having school shopping to do, and with the matron too inebriated to come up with anything better than "go, go", Isadore made her way back to Diagon Alley.

It took her a while, for her sense of direction wasn't exactly the best, and she had only managed to get through muggle London using the small coins she had managed to slyly remove from there original places. However, once she was there, she found herself mesmerized yet again.

Shaking off her wonder, she strode down to Gringotts. "I would like to exchange gold for muggle money," she told one of the goblins at the exchange table. The goblin nodded.

"How much?" he asked.

Isadore instantly pooled out half of her wizarding money from the velvet money bag. The goblin sighed in what seemed like exasperation, counting the coins quickly before handing her the muggle money, all in notes, and then calling out "Next" in a bored tone of voice, since a small queue had begun to form since her arrival.

With a wad of muggle cash now, Isadore was finally ready. She made a small stop at Flourish and Blotts to buy "Wards for the Wary" and one more that had caught her fancy, called "The Subtle Arts of the Mind". There were even professional looking books on "Ancient Runes, an exemplary guide" and "Recognizing Wands". She bought them both, finding that they rather struck her fancy.

Then, she was ready to go.

She returned to the muggle world. Purchasing an oyster card from the suspicious looking guy, who was eyeing her loose and baggy shirts and shorts, she used it to travel to Bond Street. It was a major shopping street in London, or so she had heard, and she was fairly certain that with the money that she currently held in her hands, she could afford, and wanted nothing less, than the very best.

She received a lot of suspicious looks from the people there, so at last, in her irritation, she bought a zip-up hoodie that hugged her body, so that she blended in better. Now that there was something covering that beggar-like shirt of hers, no one kept staring, and she was content.

She entered the huge brand shops that she could still remember when she was little - HM, Zara, Nike, Addidas - and bought things that just struck her fancy, such as the Nike black and white running shoes that caught her eye, which she swapped with that old pair of cheap slippers without hesitation. She also bought clothing she saw other people wearing, just making sure that they were conservative - things she bought included jeans, and Addidas shorts, which were far better than those old cotton basketball shorts she had to wear every day, T-shirts, hoodies, and even shorts with fraying edges (to be honest, Isadore had no idea why people liked to wear shorts like that on purpose, but she wanted to blend, so she bought them). Things she did not buy, however, included revealing attires, skin-tight clothing, dresses and skirts as well. That girly stuff just wasn't her.

When she felt that she was just about done with shopping, and her cash was running low anyway, she headed back to the orphanage with her huge bags, and headed up the stairs carrying all the new things she had bought, doing her best to pretend the prying eyes did not exist from those narrow-minded imbeciles.

"Colloportus," Isadore whispered. The door clicked shut.

Excitedly, she rushed to the door, and attempted to turn it. It was locked shut.

"Alohomora," Isadore recited quietly. From within the door came a quiet click, and she turned the knob - now, it could be opened, easily.

"Colloportus," Isadore said again, and once again, the lock clicked shut.

Isadore gave a sigh of relief, and threw The Standard Book Of Spells, Grade 1 by Miranda Goshawk carelessly onto the bed. She left her wand on the floor beside her, and took out the keys she now made an effort to bring around everywhere with her. Turning it, she saw, once again, the sight of all her stuff, strewn all over. It was a mess.

She locked it, and then unlocked it again using the second key.

Interesting equipment had been left behind. It was not imbued with an undetectable extension charm, but there was no need, for all the compact leather trunk contained was a money bag, filled to the brim with even more wizarding gold, with a single piece of parchment folded inside it, several leather bound books with the initials E.R. embossed in green and silver, an old family album which had a maroon leather cover, surprisingly, and another velvet pouch, considerably smaller than the money bag, and green, with silver drawstring. There seemed to be very little in it, and when Isadore lifted it, it felt light, but there was something inside it after all.

And last but not least was a wand - a beautifully crafted wand with an edge, like it wasn't just a wand to look at and admire, but also one to fear. Her hair stood on end when she saw it, and it seemed to be filled with magic that tingled when she lifted it. It felt unfamiliar, yet strangely familiar, almost like an old friend you had not met in a long time, and then suddenly found had changed very much when you did meet again. The wand had to be the aspen wand, for it's pale colouring and beauty in the areas that were useful, told Isadora as much. It was a wand built for both its beauty and for practical use, with little grooves on the handle before a ridge, which gave it a very mystical appearance, and the wand itself was straight, with little ridges at every section. Isadore fingered it lovingly, and it felt the sparks, the green and silver, erupt from her light touch. However, in spite of it all, the wand still felt slightly uncomfortable, especially with her own wand on the ground.

She put down the pale wand and slowly picked up her own richly hued, and crafted with excruciating detail, rich dark wand. One thing that they already had in common was their immaculate taste, it seemed, for they both liked the beautiful and practical wands. But she felt this strong sense of belonging when her wand shot out sparks of blue and bronze off its tip.

She took out the family album next, wand still lovingly held in hand. The family album only contained photos of two people - one a tall, dark haired boy, whose black hair fell in waves that seemed disarmingly casual. He possessed of a great deal of charm, or Isadore felt, and was beaming at the camera. He had brown eyes, Isadore noticed. Brown eyes that seemed to be alight with happiness. Possessing of a very sturdy build, with a jawline that could cut through marble, rich red lips and cheekbones that were just as chiselled, he was truly gorgeous, like one of those models you would see on magazine covers, just more athletic and far less skinny, with big bones. The other person was a girl who stood beside him, beaming at the camera. She had straight, but messy, blonde hair with streaks of many different shades of blonde in it. She too was tall and fair skinned, with a slender body with curves all in the right places. Her eyes, their colour colder than glass, were a rich shade of amber that were frank and seemed to reflect her feelings immediately. She didn't have very sharp cheekbones, nor a defined jaw, but a bit of both that gave her a more genteel air, but that was ruined with the bold and brash attitude she had when Evan Rosier said something that caused her to turn around and shove him away lightly with a playful smirk. The frigid wind whipped around wildly, for they seemed to be in the middle of winter, in a cold wasteland of snow everywhere, but in spite of that they looked truly happy, the girl wrapped in a huge man's coat that hung onto her shoulders, and wearing a shirt and jeans that seemed to emphasize her long, slender build. The man initially had an arm around her, but after turning his head down to whisper in her ear, it caused her to shove him away lightly, and the hand was no longer there. This sequence repeated constantly as Isadore stared at the moving pictures, admiring the colour, and the starkness of their love.

She flipped slowly through the album, admiring the photographs, and just toward the end, she began to see that there was now a new person in each photograph, beginning with the duo, celebrating the day the little girl was born. There was a tall and neat handwriting that spelled the words "21 September 1981" on it, with a small girl with chubby red cheeks and pudgy, fleshy arms, her hand being raised and waved for her in the photo by an exhausted Marlene Mckinnon.

Isadore smiled contentedly before it was wiped off her face. She flipped back hurriedly, and stared at the date. September, 1981? That was far before she was born. She was born on September, 2007, not 1981! How was that possible? Or did she have a sister that she had not known of?

Yet they said that her parents were dead. How did they die? Had she been separated from her sister when they were very young? She closed the album carefully, cautious and afraid it would break for it had creaked in protest with every page she flipped to.

And then, she proceeded to take out the folded parchment from the money bag. She opened it, and in the same, long and neat, handwriting, were the words:

 **Isadore,**

 **If you are reading this right now, then I must be dead, and you have found your way to Gringotts, and had been taken to your Vault 725.**

 **My name is Evan Rosier. I am your father. Your mother is Marlene Mckinnon.**

 **What should I say under situations like this? I am at a loss of how to tell you the circumstances, but here is to trying. You were born on 21st September, 1981. There is no record of your birth, because Marlene had given birth to you in one of our numerous houses scattered around all of London. We had many during the first war against Voldemort, as they were essential to our wellbeing. They were our safehouse that we purchased at a cheap price during the war, and we constantly moved between them to escape the notice of the single greatest wizard of all time.**

 **I suppose I must start with why. You must have many questions. Why didn't we flee? Why did we stay in England? Especially when we had you? I am a Rosier, Isadore. I was born into a family of purebloods, and indoctrinated to believe that muggle borns, or so called mudbloods, were beneath us. That is of course untrue, but by the time I finally learned that from your stubborn mother, I was already a part of Voldemort the Dark Lord's inner circle, for my father had recruited me in, and when you join, you can't just leave. Either you're in, or you die. And as Voldemort, at the time, was fighting war in England, I could not leave. The best and most I could do was to spread his plans to Marlene, and Marlene, who had joined the Order of the Phoenix, an organisation that had been created to fight Voldemort, told these little information I had gathered to Dumbledore, Head of the Order.**

 **It was only later that Regulus Black, my little brother in all but blood, came to me with a stunning revelation. Voldemort had split his soul into many pieces. That was how he kept himself alive and very immortal. That made me worry - if a man like him was immortal, what chance did the order stand? So I casted a stasis charm on you - charms has always been my best, and most powerful, asset - and left you behind hidden in one of the safehouses. Stasis is usually used on food, or items, inanimate objects, but with Marlene's help I managed to create a mix between a stasis charm and a blood ward, such that you would stay your age for as long as Voldemort is alive. However, when he dies, you will begin to wake, and if all goes well, you will wake exactly how many years since Voldemort has been alive in 1981. Which is to say, if he died three years after 1981, which is in the year 1984, you will wake after the wizarding world has finally rid itself of that abomination, 3 years after his death, which would mean you would wake in 1987 as a baby, and then continue with your life.**

 **Do you get it?**

 **I am sorry. If Regulus manages to live after the war, he should be the one taking care of you. However, as he is like me, and decided to devote his life to ridding the world of Voldemort's horcruxes, he would probably not live so far. If that were the case, then you would have been brought to a good family, left on their doorstep with charms to keep you warm, with a letter telling them your name. As for now, the only chance you would get to visit Gringotts is if you get your Hogwarts letter, and if you have, congratulations. If not, it doesn't matter. You are my daughter, and I will love you no matter what.**

 **I suspect by this time, Marlene and I would be dead. If I died on the side of Voldemort, remember me as your father, who loved you and cared for you, and not the man who brutally slaughtered others because his master told him to do so. I am most sorry that I could not spend any time with you, and it is on that note that I leave you with the album of myself and Marlene, in the hopes that you will remember us fondly, even if only in your imagination. But you don't have to be proud of me - I will be content if you were only proud of Marlene. After all, she fought to defeat the greatest Dark Lord of all time, and never once was prejudiced or unfair to those born to muggle parents.**

 **Your always,**

 **your loving father, Evan Rosier.**

By the end, Isadore finally understood. In this world, she was born on 21st September 2007. So it had been nine years since the death of Voldemort.

With a sigh, she slowly folded back the parchment, and clamped it in between the cover and first page of the album. She longed to be with her true family. It was too bad they died.

All the dreams and hopes of reuniting fled out of the window, but somehow, Isadore couldn't be prouder of her parents than she was. They had led a fulfilling life, and for some parts, were briefly happy together. That was the most she could hope for.

She picked up the green velvet pouch, and opened it, pouring its contents out onto the floor. There was a golden necklace with a flattened and small golden ball with wings attached to it. It lifted its feebly, but did not fly away.

A small piece of parchment fell out, and Isadore picked it up. The same handwriting filled the paper in black ink:

 **Isadore,**

 **The necklace once belonged your mother. It is yours now. Use it well.**

Use it well? How does a person use a small golden ball? Isabella shook her head and picked up the ball, eyeing it for any secret openings of any sort.

Nothing could be seen. For a ball, it was made of gold, and metal wings, intricately and immaculately designed, but that was about all it seemed to have. She picked up the long chain and slipped it over her head.

To her surprise, the feather wings flapped, and lifted itself off her chest momentarily, before settling there again. It was beautiful, though, so she decided to leave it there.

There was yet another chain, this time a bronze one, with a symbol on it like a rune. It was a much smaller and more delicate chain that wrapped around neck, the rune symbol landing on the indention between her collar bones. She also wore that chain, and felt closer to her parents already. It was really nice, having all her parents old belongings. It made her feel like a part of the family, even though it had been so long ago.

She packed the rest of her stuff. In the books that her father had left behind were many useful charms, including a way to reverse the undetectable extension charm that had been placed on the first trunk. She had not liked it, for it was hell trying to remove things from within a leather trunk with an undetectable extension charm, so she reversed it with great pleasure and spent her time both packing her new things into the seven different trunk compartments that the trunk had, opened with each different key, which had been fortunately colour and metal-coded - which included aluminium, iron, brass, copper, bronze, silver and gold.

As she played around with her trunk, she also came to a realization that there was something she had missed earlier on. A little knob that, when pressed, turned everything inside to muggle things. When you flipped it the other way, like a switch, instead, all your other magical things would be there. Isadore flipped it, and spent her time moving out the old 1980s shirts and trousers out and changing them with the muggle clothing she had shopped for not too long ago. It managed to fit, thankfully.

And then she spent the rest of her days submerged in reading her books, casually locking her door from the inside as she did so. The attic had once been a cold, dull room especially during winter for naughty children to sit in, and had been built with that in mind. Fortunately, the locking charm that Isadore had learnt allowed her to lock it from the inside, and therefore confirm that no one but herself would be allowed into the attic room.

This gave her the much needed peace that she would never otherwise have gained, constantly looking over her shoulder for any passing matron, and she enjoyed it very much, lying on the bed on her belly, and reading tomes and tomes of books, some new and some old. If you had managed to float five storeys off the ground, and looked into her window, you would have seen a small girl, dwarfed by shapeless old clothes, occasionally also smiling wistfully as she fingered the pictures of her moving parents.

And so the rest of the summer was passed in relative peace, with Isadore constantly getting out of unfortunate tasks such as cleaning the toilets by the handy puking pastilles and fever fudges. By the time autumn arrived, Isadore was counting down the days to which she would go to Hogwarts, occasionally borrowing books like the guide to the London Underground, to confirm how to get to King's Cross. She had decided not to get a cab, like Professor Mcgonagall had suggested, instead deciding to use her oyster card to get to the train station. She also read, and re-read, how to get onto the platform, written in a note by Professor Mcgonagall, "Walk right through the barrier between the platforms nine and ten, and you would see platform nine and three quarters. Its best to do it at a run."

Now that there was no longer any more undetectable extension charm, she had no choice but to leave the cage with the owl lying on the floor. Luckily, Athenon, or so she named it, and it seemed to have agreed to the name as it had nipped her finger softly and affectionately for the tag on its initial perch had told her that it was a male, was a quiet nocturnal owl who was content to being let out at night to fly around and locked in his cage in the day to sleep, with food scattered in its cage when he returned from hunting at night, and he did not make a fuss, so Isadore's owl was not realised by anyone in the orphanage, for none of them frequented the fifth floor with the odd girl, anyway. Besides, she preferred it that way.

It was hell to learn how to use a quill. Generally, Isadore was fond of writing hard, causing deep word imprints on the other side of the page, with the stem of the solid pen leaning against the web of skin between her thumb and index finger. However, when she first attempted to write the quill with the way she wrote with a pen, the nib scraping the surface of the parchment, the feathers would bend under the pressure of her two fingers as they squeezed the quill tighter and tighter with every word, and come very close to snapping. And it did not provide her with the support a pen did. Not to mention the irritation of writing with her fingers clutching the thin stem of the quill. It took her countless numbers of temper tantrums, a growing irritation that often caused her wand to snap and fizzle with blue electricity when she picked it up after a gruelling session of "learning how to write again with a quill instead", to finally learn how to write legibly. It was far from the neat and printed words she was aiming for, but at least now she could write without splattering ink all over her fingers, and causing ink blotches all over her parchment. That had been a huge part of the learning process and such a frequent occurrence that seeing the normally squeaky clean freak with ink-stained black hands when she joined the other orphans at the dining table to eat their meal, which usually comprised of watery porridge in a clean but unappealing gray bowl, along with the occasional lukewarm hard-boiled egg, was a common sight that no longer resulted in raised eyebrows - although, of course, they still continued to give the girl a wide berth, leaving huge spaces between her and the next person. Thankfully, Isadore preferred sitting at the very edge of the long wooden table they dined at, so she did not take up so much space.

At last, the day arrived. With heady excitement festering in her heart, Isadore ignored the cold hard-boiled egg on her plate and went up to the matron. "I leave for school today," she told the already half-drunk matron.

The matron blinked. "Oh. Yes. Your... new school. How are you getting there?" she asked, not even bothering to look interested. Somehow, Isadore preferred it that way. At least with her matron, she always knew where she stood.

"London Underground. They have a train at one of the stations," Isadore said, revealing only half of the truth.

"I see. So you won't be needing'us to drive you. Good, good. When will you be back, girl?" the matron asked.

"Next summer," Isadore said.

"It's a boarding school, yes?" she asked.

Isadore nodded.

"Very well. You may leave whenever you wish," she said. As Isadore strode proudly with a straight back down the tables of quietly eating, hunch backed children, their metal forks and spoons clanging against the plastic plates, she muttered a small "good riddance". The girl always made her feel so uneasy.

Isadore made sure to dress smartly. No more stupid and drab orphanage clothing. No, now she could wear the more respectable and fitting muggle attire the people often wore. She had left all the orphanage shirts neatly stacked in the small chest on the floor, along with some of the books that she had found in the attic when she first moved up, and also with the 1980s outfit her father had left in the trunk for whatever reason. After hesitating a long time, Isadore had decided to bring along those cheap blue pens given rather willingly to her by the orphanage, which had a bad habit of getting stuck sometimes, even after spending a part of the summer writing on spare pieces of paper and learning how to use a quill and ink.

It was still good to practice how to write with a pen. It would be useful if she ever needed to collaborate with muggles about anything in the future.

It was when she was about to leave when she realised her mistake. It was tough going, trying to carry a new canvas satchel that she had bought as a new school bag, as well as a trunk and an owl who cried indignantly as she tried that. In the end, she opened the last, just reasonably empty, trunk compartment, filled only with some stationary and toiletries, and casted the charm that turned it undetectable, which she had been practicing not too long ago. Shoving the cage into there, she locked the trunk, pushed the little switch to turn it all to "muggle", and lifted the light trunk, imbued already with a charm that made feather-light.

Leaving the orphanage felt suddenly very odd. In spite of all the other bad memories of the place, it had been her home for a few years, and it had given her a safe place to stay, a place that she might not have had in other circumstances. She also suddenly felt small as she left the place, feeling like her eyes had been forced open to see the world with a grander magnitude.

When she finally walked a distance to reach the nearest underground, Isadore tapped the oyster card like the professor had when she bought them temporary tickets. The doors turned outwards and allowed her through it.

It took quite a few changes of trains on different coloured lines, which she had memorised, before she could get to King's Cross Station. Once there, all she did was search for platforms nine and ten, and then saw the barrier. And shivered. The barrier happened to be a red bricked wall. Uncertainly, she walked up to it, and stretched out her arm.

It fell into empty space, not the solid wall she had anticipated to find, and realise it was all an elaborate prank.

She stretched further and further, trying to see where it ended, but apparently you weren't supposed to do that, because she fell right through the wall and banged into someone on the other side, who gave an startled sound of protest as they both toppled down onto the floor, with all their things being strewn across the platform floor. He had been pushing a trolley, and his trolley flipped sideways. As for her, Isadore found herself unable to grip her trunk, and that had skidded across the ground to the other side.

She felt thankful that her wand was in her canvas satchel, which was slung securely over her shoulders. If it had been kept in her pocket, it would have disappeared, probably forever.

"Sorry," she muttered, flushing, as she used her hand to pushed herself off the guy she had fallen onto. When she straightened up, she offered the boy a hand, and he took it, smiling, for some odd reason.

"No, its quite okay," he said with a friendly smile. That was when Isadore realised that the boy had, for some reason, a mess of blue hair swept to the side. He was quite dashing, but definitely not a first year, as he towered over Isadore by more than a head and he no longer had any baby fat to be seen. He had an attractive face, with a sharp chin and a cheerful grin plastered to his pale face. He was more lanky than well-built, but it suited him. Isadore already liked him.

"First year at Hogwarts?" he asked. He was wearing muggle clothes too - a red muggle shirt and a black varsity jacket with two thick yellow and black lines on both sides of the zip. He had his hands inside the varsity jacket with a yellow and black insignia of a familiar badger on the right hand side of his jacket, and he also wore black trousers to match.

Isadore nodded wordlessly.

"No wonder. Next time, don't put your hand through the barrier. Run into it. Or slide into it. The barrier can sense your indecision, and when it does, it doesn't function properly. When it is properly functioning, its supposed to send you out of a wall that doesn't have anyone in front of it," he said, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly.

Isadore hated that she was so short. It made it difficult for her to meet his eyes when he was damned tall. She nodded.

"You are one to talk," reprimanded a cheerful voice. A boy slid into view - a grinning, black haired boy, "You slammed headfirst into an old lady."

The tall boy flushed.

"Anyway, my name is Teddy Lupin," he said amicably, ignoring the other boy whom he evidently knew, from his relaxed body language, holding out his hand, "What's yours?"

"Isadore," she said, taking the hand. They shook. "I'm really sorry for the mess," she said, gesturing at the trolley and overturned objects, which included a very unhappy, upside-down owl that was now squawking in protest, and rattling its cage by slamming its wings violently against it in his haste to catch attention.

"No, no, like I said, it's fine," Teddy said, taking out the wand that had been in the back pocket of his jeans.

A simple sweeping wave, and all the fallen items returned onto the trolley, including the owl, who stopped its unhappy protests and fell asleep. Even Isadore's trunk returned, flying back, and she caught it from the air easily, even though she nearly toppled from the force of the flying trunk.

"There," Teddy said with pride, "All done. And this time, James, you are pushing the trolley, not me. I hope I'll see you around, Isadore, but I really must rush to kiss my girlfriend goodbye. Enjoy your time at Hogwarts okay? I know I did!" He sped off in a rush.

"James Potter," said the boy, sticking out his hand, "And his girlfriend happens to be the head girl this year, so it is really best to avoid him." He gave her a wink.

"James Potter? As in Harry Potter, James Potter?" Isadore asked, having read the revised version of magical history, which was a subject far more fascinating than muggle history.

"That's me," he said proudly, "Well, I must go to catch an empty carriage. Hope to see you in Gryffindor!"

Isadore made her way onto the last carriage, which was thankfully empty. She unlocked her trunk, took out the cage of her owl, and casted the charm to reverse the extension charm. Then, after locking it and making it muggle worthy, she used her wand to levitate it to the metal ledge above, another simple charm she found in her texts, and with both her cage and trunk safely occupying only one side of the ledge, and leaving the other half for other people should they arrive, she took out a book, and began to read.


	3. chapter three

**chapter three**

Isadore had spent the time on the train all alone, sitting in a small corner beside the window, watching silently as the countryside rolled by. She felt a little mournful, and a little messed up.

About half an hour after the train had left, and with Isadore feeling more and more dread about being all alone, someone finally opened the carriage door. "Hi, can I sit here? Everywhere else is full," she said.

"She" was young, probably a first year like Isadora herself. She had golden-blonde hair that was slightly wavy, a pair of intelligent and discerning gray eyes, as well as a tall and slender build. She wore glasses as well - thick, black glasses that was much similar to Isadore's.

"Sure," Isadore said, shrugging.

The girl moved into the carriage, slid the door shut, and sat down opposite Isadore, clutching her huge and bulky wooden trunk in one hand, and in the other holding a cage with a beautiful and large reddish tawny owl. Isadore flicked her wrist, and the trunk went flying into the air, before landing carefully onto the metal ledge meant to place your trunks on.

"Wow!" the girl said, "Are you a second year or something?"

Isadore shook her head. "First year," she said.

"Me too!" the girl answered, eyes widening excitedly, "What's your name? I'm Artemisia Silverstone."

"Isadore," she said.

Artemisia seemed surprised that Isadore had neglected mentioning her last name, but took it in her stride.

"Can I call you Izzy? Or Dora?" Artemisia asked, "You can all me Arty if you want."

"Not Dora," Isadore said, "Anything but Dora. It sounds like that stupid muggle cartoon character."

"Oh, I know that one! My muggle neighbours always watch it, and its really not my fault that we've got a binoculars that can see like a thousand times further, and can zoom in and out, so when I'm bored, I pull out the binoculars and watch whatever's playing in the house. They usually have subtitles, which is really useful," Artemisia said.

Isadore laughed a little.

"What house do you think you're going?" Artemisia asked.

"Where do you think you're going?" Isadore flipped the question back at Artemisia.

"Ravenclaw," she said without a shred of uncertainty, "My whole family's been in it, even my stupid brother. And you haven't answered?"

"Ravenclaw," Isadore said, "Probably. I dunno. I reckon I've got a few different houses under my belt, but I'm leaning towards Ravenclaw. After all, wit beyond measure-"

"Is man's greatest treasure," finished Artemisia with a grin.

"Anything off the trolley?" yelled a woman from outside. She was a plump, friendly lady with a cheery smile. Artemisia immediately grabbed her pouch, and ran over to the trolley to find what she wanted.

Isadore, who rarely had sweets as a child, not that she had ever been particularly fond of them, went out to take a look at what selections the lady had, too, admiring the bright colours.

"I've never seen this before," Isadore admitted, "What do you recommend?"

Artemisia widened her eyes.

"Never? You don't know what you're missing out, woman! That there is a chocolate frog - you usually buy for the chocolate and for the cards. They are collectibles, and I've got 'bout a hundred of them. Those," Artemisia said, pointing now to a box of brightly coloured sweets, "Are every flavour beans. And when they say every flavour, they mean every flavour. You get the normal stuff like marmalade and lime, but also things like earwax, and salt and pepper. This box is gum that you can blow, and it won't pop for days. Even the flavour is retained. And then those are cauldron cakes. Chocolate or butter cakes shaped like cauldrons and slathered with honey on top. It's good if you can ignore how sugary it is. Those over there are liquorice wands. They are shaped like wands, and taste like liquorice, but they come in many different flavours. Those are pumpkin pasties - baked like every other pastry pie, but with pumpkin filling. Ooh, look! There's even iced pumpkin juice! How much is one bottle?" Artemisia excitedly asked.

She handed over the appropriate sum for the glass of iced pumpkin juice.

"There's also jelly slugs, right over there," Artemisia warbled on, "Tastes like normal gummies and jelly mixed together. They're really nice. And also shaped like slugs, of course. And the toffees! They are honey-flavoured, of course. And sugar quills! I'd never even known it was sold on the train. Its a quill you can write with, but suck off the end, 'cos its just sugar there. My brother said that he brings it to class all the time - it looks exactly like the Agaripan White Quill, and no professor has ever caught him during class eating."

Isadore ended up buying chocolate frogs, a cauldron cake, a pumpkin pasty, and the toffees with the creamy, honey-coloured exterior, which cost about five sickles, along with iced pumpkin juice, under the excitable Artemisia's insistence.

It wasn't her thing, though. Just one sip of it, and she found herself spitting it out vilely like she had drunk down a whole bottle of Skele-Gro (she had heard that it tasted nasty). Artemisia stared at her in shock.

"Ugh, how do you drink this stuff?" Isadore asked, "Here, you have it."

She cleaned up the mess that she had made easily with a simple cleaning charm she had found in the book that Mcgonagall had recommended. It was surprisingly useful for every day life.

To her surprise, Artemisia and herself clicked rather well. Artemisia was friendly person and with a tendency to talk too much. Isadore didn't like drab people, and Artemisia was just the opposite. She was content to just listening, anyway. Not talking never bothered her, much.

A Gryffindor prefect popped in before the Hogwarts train arrived and warned them to change into school attire. They both did so rather quickly, returning from the girl's bathroom wearing the uniform of the modern era - a short sleeved white button down shirt and plain ties with no colour, along with a plain black cloak. Artemisia gaped at her.

"What?" Isadora asked defensively.

"You're not wearing the skirt," she said in half-awe and half-worry. She was wearing hers, a simple grey skirt, with long gray socks that she had pulled up to her knees.

Isadora shrugged. "Sue me, I don't like skirts," she said, tucking her wand into the small, long and thin pocket in her cloak that had been designed to suitably fit wands of any size and length without them dropping out. She had worn everything except the skirt and socks, wearing instead formal black slacks and black socks to match the black shoes. At least the had worn black slacks, Artemisia thought, better than wearing blue jeans, or shorts. Even though people had to be crazy to wear shorts in this weather, especially in Scotland of all places.

They settled into their compartment.

"What's your wand made of?" Isadore asked curiously.

Artemisia took out her wand, which was still lovingly kept inside its box.

"Oh this? Rowan and phoenix feather, reasonably supple. Twelve inches," Artemisia said, her gaze staring at the wand in her hands with fondness.

Her wand was amazing. A nice, pale and straight grained wand with a nicely detailed handle, but otherwise nothing fancy. At least, that was what Isadore thought to herself, but she knew she was biased. Of course she would think of her own as the best. For a moment, she wanted Artemisia to ask her what hers was, but she never did, still too wrapped up in her own wand.

Ignoring the small and unavoidable twinge of disappointment, Isadore kept the remainder of her sweets that she hadn't eaten, deciding to keep them for another time instead. The train came to a swift halt, and all students were bustling off the train. A voice yelled for all the first years from the other side, and Isadore and Artemisia exchanged glances when they caught sight of the "man" who was yelling, an extremely, and inhumanly tall man who seemed like a cross between a human and a giant.

They joined the other first years there.

"Four to a boat!" said the half-giant. Artemisia and Isadore entered a boat nearest to them, that was resting on a calm lake. It barely rocked when they got onto the boat, and there were only several ripples across the surface of the deep black-coloured lake, which was so peaceful and serene it could've been made of dark-coloured glass instead.

"This place is creepy," Artemisia whispered, almost as though feeling the suppressing need to lower her volume in the darkening night sky, "I mean, the castle is grand and all, but its so dark."

Dark, it most certainly was. Isadore still remembered, however faintly, being afraid of the dark. Especially on occasional nights, when she spent her eveing reading about cold-hearted killings, and blood splattering across the floor, along with air borne diseases that caused an entire village to perish. She would be so spooked by the vividness of the context that she occasionally would even fear leaving the safety of her bedroom. But on normal occasions, she rarely felt any kinds of fear of the dark. She felt it unnecessary. Why be afraid of something that you don't know? Its a waste of time, especially when more often than not, this fear is just a creation of your mind. After all, fear is only as deep as the mind allows it.

But knowing quite well that few people thought the way she did, especially at her age, she merely nodded, unsure of what to say.

In the end, she just reached out, and, under the dimming light, squeezed Artemisia's hand, before letting go. Artemisia glanced at her gratefully.

They were joined two boys who were muttering amongst themselves. One had a shock of blonde hair, the other had straight brown hair. The sky was by then too dark for them to see much, and they just enjoyed the ride, and the silence.

They were led by a tall man with an overnight stubble, and earthy robes, that Isadore easily recognised as the professor of herbology she had met the first night at the leaky cauldron. He spoke to them rather briefly about the four different houses, warned them about being presentable, before leading them to the Great Hall.

"Averell, Benedict," called out the Professor Longbottom, and a small and squat boy made his way up.

It took only a minute for him to be named a Ravenclaw, and his tie turned blue and bronze. His Hogwarts cloak also changed insignia from the Hogwarts crest to the Ravenclaw crest instead. He hurriedly made his way to the Ravenclaw table, which was the second table from the entrance hall, which was obvious from the blue and bronze hangings on the wall at the end of the hall, as well as the cheering people.

"Bragg, Abraham!" Professor Longbottom announced. He strode up to the hat, sitting on the stool, and confidently placed it on his head. The hat had barely brushed his blonde hair, that reminded Isadora strongly of a field with waving wheats of a similar colour, when it yelled "GRYFFINDOR", and he made his way, beaming, to the house of red and gold, which had now erupted into cheers.

The next to be sorted was one "Chadwick, Vivenna", a pale and red haired girl, who was sorted into Gryffindor at last after having the hat on her unmistakable red hair for about three minutes of sitting on the stool, seemingly conversing with a hat.

Isadora noticed that, indeed, the time it takes for people to be sorted is very unpredictable. Sometimes, the hat barely brushed their heads before yelling out a house name, much like "Griffith, Endymion", who made Gryffindor before the hat could even make it on his shaggy brown hair.

And then there were the "Charlus Hitchens"es, who took four minutes to be sorted into a house. At first, Isadore toyed with the idea that only someone who wished badly to get into a powerful house and were not cut out for it would beg the hat for so long and therefore lengthen the time of the sorting.

That was very much changed the instant Charlus Hitchens strode with a pleased smirk to the House of Hufflepuff, the house for the loyal, the dedicated, and the hard-working.

After that, it was only a matter of time, between the Jones, Lancaster, Moon, Nott and O'Conner before "Rosier, Isadore" was announced.

And rather abruptly, the great hall was silenced all at once, as though just a name had casted a spell of sufficient strength to quiet an entire school of students with lots to say.

"Did he say Rosier?" someone muttered as Isadore strode forward, trying to keep her back straight and seem confident. She knew exactly how essential that was especially with her name.

"But I heard that the House of Rosier is dead," someone else whispered, before a sudden blackness came over her eyes as the hat she had placed on her head, patched and fraying, slid over her eyes. For a moment, nothing happened.

But she knew of what was to come.

"Greetings, Miss Rosier," the hat said, "I must admit, it has been a long time since someone like you was sorted. The last one I remember is Regulus Black, and before him was Sirius...He was enchanting, quick, alert, and eager. And even before Sirius Black was your father. I can remember vividly the day he arrogantly came forward, and thrust me onto his head. Very vividly, I can assure you."

"What was he like?" Isadore asked.

"Charming, mysterious, and enchanting, of course. Your mother had exquisite taste," replied hat, "I have sorted many students over the years that just blend into one when you are immortal, and exceedingly bored, but the students who do stand out in my mind are the students who stand between the fine line of two very unique houses - Gryffindor and Slytherin. Your father was a fine example - he was exceedingly brave, especially for a Slytherin, but he had one of the most cunning and ambitious minds I had ever the great pleasure to meet. Sirius had leaned toward one side, the Gryffindor one, as had Regulus, on Slytherin, but not your father, oh no. He was a tough one to sort until I left the matter in his hands, and left him to choose - and it is no one's surprise when he chose to follow the indoctrines his family had always taught him. But I had always found it a great pity...He had strength. But what about you?"

The hat thought for a moment.

"But you are a wild card, are you not? You have a beech wand...It says much about your psychological maturity. But you are a fighter too, aren't you?" the hat said, "I can feel it. You're like the goblin's silver - you will only let what will strengthen you in. But not at the expense of your values, no."

"So where to put you?"

The hat seemed just as stumped as Isadore felt.

"Interesting...I never saw this before. A genuine love of adventure, and experience. Wisdom comes with that experience, does it not? And a very cunning mind, too. You know your faults, you're not afraid to admit to them, and you alternate very adroitly between both using them, and hiding them, too. But there is bravery, to admitting to your faults. Ahh...But what's this? How very alike your mother this is. You are quick to anger, but equally quick to forgive. Most Slytherins hold strong grudges if they are wronged."

It seemed that it was well past the five minutes marker because the whispers had begun to grow louder again. Isadore felt extremely self-conscious, and tried to quell that budding sense of unease. The hat picked up on it, as quickly as she had felt it.

"Fearful? But yet you struggle to keep your composure. You are brave, in spite of many past-related fears. Many would have cowered by now, but you have not," the hat marvelled, in what seemed like awe and admiration, "But yet I don't think you much want Gryffindor, do you?"

"It is the house to too many incompetent nincompoops who are foolish and close-minded," Isadore replied, urging the wave of anger to bud. The hat laughed.

"Indeed," it said, "I most agree. They can be so endearingly foolish in their ideals and aspirations, aren't they?"

"Endearing isn't the word I would use," Isadore answered, "More of that and one day, they will find themselves dead because of their lack of sense. Bravery but without brains is an utter waste. Its like fire with no direction. With direction, it gets things done, by clearly land to grow new crops. Wild, however, it only consumes wood until it burns itself down to the ground."

Isadore could practically feel the hat raise its nonexistent eyebrows.

"And on that note, I believe I have the right house for you. The house you said you wanted, so you have no need to fear narrow-minded imbeciles. The door-knocker will love you."

"If you say so," Isadore said, right before the hat chuckled in her head and yelled "RAVENCLAW!"

And Isadore moved to join those in the blue and bronze house, checking anxiously in her cloak to ensure that her precious wand was still on her person. She pulled it out, and it shot out small sparks of blue and bronze. Amused and pleased by the congratulations offered to her by the wand, she smiled slightly as she pushed the wand back into its place, and sat down next to the last person to be sorted into Ravenclaw before herself - a boy with straw-coloured hair called Silas O'Connor, who offered her his hand to shake as a congratulatory sign.

They turned their heads to watch the next two people be sorted - twins with red hair by the names of Pollux and Castor Roth. They were both quickly announced Gryffindors, to their obvious delight, and made a huge high-five at the Gryffindor table.

And then it was the 'S', and Artemisia Silverstone, the friend she had made on the train, was clambering up to the stool, and jamming the hat onto her head of blonde hair.

Just like she had said, the sorting was over barely after it had begun. She had been announced a Ravenclaw, and sat herself beside Isadore, waiting with a growling stomach for the sorting to end, and the great feast, that her siblings had always bemoaned when they returned home, to start.

"I can't believe you are a Rosier," Artemisia said in her ear as she sat down next to the empty seat beside Isadore.

Isadore blinked.

"Why not?" Isadore asked curiously, "I always thought it wasn't too bad a surname."

"But the Rosiers are part of the sacred twenty-eight. You know that, don't you?" Artemisia asked, looking at her expectantly. Isadore shook her head in disavowal, and Artemisia widened her eyes.

"You don't know? The sacred twenty-eight is a list of surnames compiled by an anonymous person as notable pureblood names of great influence in the wizarding world. And when the last known Rosier died in the first wizarding war, we thought the family died out," Artemisia paused as applause rang for the next person to be sorted, "Of course, there were families who tried to claim the Rosier vaults in Gringotts because of their ties with the Rosier family, and some of the families who claimed that actually do have Rosiers married into their families, but Gringotts has always denied them claim to the Rosier vaults. Now, I think we all know why. You are the Rosier heir, aren't you?"

Isadore waited for the next applause to die down.

"Yeah," she said.

"I thought you were muggle born," Artemisia said, "You didn't know anything about wizarding sweets, and every wizarding child eats them."

Isadore shrugged. "I was raised by muggles. My mum and dad died when I was very young," Isadore said, "But Gringotts said that those vaults were mine when I hit my majority at seventeen, so I guess I _am_ the Rosier heir."

And Artemisia could have hit herself for being so brutally blunt.

By the time the feast was over, and they were dismissed to return to their houses, most of them were exhausted. Half of them had half-closed eyes as they stumbled after the Ravenclaw prefect who led them to their common room located in a tower at the west wing, barely remembering how to open the door to Ravenclaw tower. They were brought to their dormitory through an old but nonetheless firm and sturdy wooden door, fortunate enough to have the dorm room that was highest, so that above them was a sea of stars, and the bright yellow moon glowed with a murky yellow-white intensity, clearly seen through the glass dome that was several feet above their heads. Their things had already been brought up, stacked in one corner beside the door. Isadore may have been very much exhausted after the long day, but she had enough experience fighting exhaustion at nights, so she was the one with most sense, and had the time to fight between common sense and inherent love for intricate beauty and personal space. That love won out in the end, so Isadore rushed in her haste to the bed furthest from the door and the bathroom, but also in the corner, the quietest part of dormitory. From her chosen bed, she could easily enjoy the night sky and the peace and quiet. She dumped her satchel on the bed, her cage in one corner, and her trunk on the Vitorian-designed ebony-black chest with silver fastenings in front of her bed in one swift thrust and sat down on the bed, making her presence the reason why the other members of the Ravenclaw dormitory avoided that bed and took their places elsewhere. As for Artemisia, she had enough sense to walk to her on unsteady knees with drooping eyelids, mutter a muffled 'fanks' and pull out her pyjamas.

Isadore shrugged, placing the cage neatly on the floor - Athenon was not there, so she strongly suspected the house elves of setting all their owls free. Artemisia's owl Ambrosia wasn't in his cage, either, so she thought her suspicion rather well founded. If she did not see Athenon the next morning when she woke, she would go to the owlery to find him, she told herself, unlocking the trunk and taking out a shirt and shorts. She was rather pleased with her living quarters, she admitted to herself. There was a window and a small ledge that was above the headboard of the bed. A good place, too, to place a jar of light and to attach a perch for her owl to sit at...or not. Apparently someone had already thought of that, and there was a perch that Isadore had not seen after all. Even better. To her left was a three-drawer wooden dresser, beside the calming, velvet blue curtain that belonged to her neighbour. There was also a desk about three feet away from her bed and another two feet away from the wall, with a wooden chair. It had a drawer that unfortunately did not have a lock, but otherwise was just perfect to be used for late night reading, or last minute homework to complete. All it was lacking was a yellow lamp, and Isadore made up her mind to conjure a glass jar and fill it with yellow light to place on her desk the next day. After a good night's rest. She grabbed a sweatshirt and a pair of running shorts, making her way to the bathroom that was currently uninhibited as the other girls of her dormitory had closed their curtains to change without having to move much. Isadore wasn't planning on that - she felt absolutely, abysmally filthy.

The Ravenclaw dormitory's bathroom was alright. A clean bathroom smelling of fresh lime that already served to make Isadore feel more awake. She locked the door firmly behind her, before getting into the tub just big enough for a full ground adult to lie in - which is to say, it was several times longer than it was wide. Still, it was nice to sit in a bathtub of warm water that had at first stung her cold skin, but later leeched out the heavy cold. Exhausted, Isadore lay her head against the back of the tub, enjoying the smell of lime, and feeling the temptation to just lie down and fall asleep...by resisting it too, all the same. With much effort on her part, she rose to use the shampoo and body wash to clean herself, and then used one of the fluffy white cotton towels that had been laid on a metal ledge above her, which she had to tiptoe just to reach. Drying herself off absentmindedly with it, she hesitated unsure of what to do with her dirty clothing, especially after she had already changed.

She decided to leave her clothes in a corner for the time being as she brushed her teeth.

There were five transparent travel toiletry kits placed next to the bar of fresh lemon soap that was placed on a white ceramic soap dish that she had just opened and used to wash her slightly wrinkled hands from lying in the bathtub filled with water for too long. Her curiosity rose even further when she shoved her black glasses onto her face and noticed that at the bottom of the toiletry kits were names imprinted onto the transparent kits in bolded black, every word of the exact same size, and all in Capital letters. To be more specific, they had to be names of every one sharing the dormitory, because Isadore easily recognised the her own name, and Artemisia's.

Rinsing away any residual soap on her hands with the warm water that ran from the metal tap, Isadore dried her hands on a piece of small white towel made of the same fluffy, absorbent material that the towels stacked on a metal ledge was, and then carefully picked up her own kit. Cautiously, she opened it, and examined what was inside. There were four bottles of different coloured liquids, some seemed to be made of the same brand, and some were not, along with a glass perfume bottle, a nail clipper and a hairbrush. She examined the bottles of liquid first. The first liquid was a creamy-green coloured shampoo in a small travel bottle, with words written in darker green on the top. The label said that it was "Shafiq's Personally Patented Shampoo; softens the hair and refreshes the scalp". Isadore lifted it to her nose, and opened the cap to sniff it. It smelled richly like green apples, and Isadore was surprised to find that she loved it. The next bottle was a body wash with a milky white texture, and, whilst the smell was faint, it was gentle and reassuring. The third was conditioner, also from Shafiq's. The next she pulled out was a glass jar with white moisturizer. Isadore swiped a bit from the jar with a finger and applied it to her hand. It was cold, like the feeling of snow on your skin, but without the biting chill. And it felt very refreshing. The last bottle was unfamiliar to her. It was called a mouthwash, and was lime green. According to instructions on back, it was to be gurgled in the mouth thoroughly, spat out, and then rinsed with water. It was apparently the wizarding version of tooth care, by just gurgling that liquid and spitting it out, and its effects were supposedly equivalent to using a toothbrush and toothpaste. Dubiously, Isadore did as the instructions told her to, and after rinsing her mouth with water, she found that all her teeth were a bright, pearly white. She rose her eyebrows in pleasant surprise. That made things a lot easier for her.

Picking up her dirty clothing, she left the warm bathroom to the slightly colder dormitory, feeling goosebumps erupt with the gentle breeze. Wait..gentle breeze? She rose her head to see that her window was now slightly ajar, and Athenon stood smartly on the ledge, as though he was waiting for her.

"You is having a very smart owl, miss," someone with an extremely high-pitched voice said. Startled and flummoxed, Isadore glanced around, only to see a small little creature with knobbly knees and huge ears, wearing a simple loincloth. "Who are you?" she asked in confusion, not sure if 'what' was a rude way to ask.

"I is a house elf, Miss. I is taking care of the castle, keeping it clean, and its professors and students both fed and happy," replied the house elf.

"Where do you live?" asked Isadore, not recalling the Hogwarts; A History mentioning the house elves that apparently manned the huge castle, though it made sense. Who else could possibly be keeping such a huge place so immaculately clean?

"In the kitchens, young miss. It is in the basement. You is only needing to tickle the pear in the painting with the bowl of fruit, and the door will reveal itself to you," said the house elf, "Can you pass me your dirty clothings, miss. We is taking care of them. We also help you wash and clean even your clothing."

Making up her mind to research more about house elves, Isadore handed over the dirty clothes, which the house elf held in its arms carefully.

"What is your name?" Isadore asked curiously. "Blinky," said the house elf solemnly.

"So, Blinky, how do I give you my dirty clothing tomorrow. I don't think I will be awake so late," Isadore asked.

"All you is needing is to dump them in the laundry chute underneath your bed, see?" Blinky said, crouching down beside her bed, the only bed whose curtains were not closed, and showing her the drawer attached to it underneath, "And when they is clean, I will send them up and leave them on your bed, so you need not worry."

Isadore frowned.

"How do you know whose laundry is whose?" she asked curiously. Blinky smiled. "Every student is having their own washer to wash for them, and then the house elves only need to use their magic to send the clothing up onto your beds, so you need not worry, young miss."

"Oh. Wow. Thank you. And for letting Athenon in, too," Isadore said, gesturing to the screech owl, who seemed to be eyeing their conversation with intelligent yellow eyes.

"Does young miss want anything else?" Blinky asked. Isadore shook her head, and Blinky dis-Apparated with a snap of her fingers. That was interesting. Isadore took note of that as she used the wand in her hand to wave at the curtains to close themselves, and then sat down on the bed. Athenon flew onto her shoulder, nipped her fingers affectionately, and flew off into the night. And with a tired sigh, Isadore's head fell onto the soft pillow of blue and bronze, and she fell asleep in the sea of blue.

A shrill ring broke Isadore out of her drifting sleep. Groaning to herself in the dissatisfaction of having to drag herself unwillingly out of her warm bed. Admittedly, she didn't need to, but in spite of all her dislike of having to wake up on cold, damp mornings that carried a strong smell of wet earth, she did like to be a morning person, so she still dragged her cold carcass out of bed, along with the white button down and a pair of jeans, still begging for the warmth of being beneath the cozy comforter.

By the time she was in the shower, warm water rinsing away the dregs of sleep and twisting her long black hair into a damp mess, especially with their tangled and unruly appearance in the mornings, she had forgotten all about her distaste of waking up so early. In her mind, she was reminding herself on what she wanted to look up - wands and house elves. Oh, and she needed to unpack her stuff, too, by putting her books in that new but antique designed chest for easier reference. Trying to hold that thought, she dried off the water that only served to make her colder after stepping out of the heaven that was the hot water shower. In the orphanage, hot water was neither a consistent nor common thing. Sometimes, it was lukewarm, sometimes, it was freezing cold. But on the occasion that there _was_ hot water, she would let the water trickle down until all the hot water ran out, and then she would step out of the shower. Perks of having an attire floor to yourself.

She threw her stuff in the laundry chute, as instructed, and that knotted the tie on her. It was a pain to have the tie on since it gave her this feeling of being half-strangled and losing her independence and freedom, but she gritted her teeth and tried to stick with it. Emphasis on _tried_ , because before she knew it, she was loosening it again. To hell with school rules. She was already breaking one by wearing jeans instead of the skirt. Who cared if she broke another. It wasn't as if no one had ever broken that rule before. She was fairly certain loosening one's tie was a common occurrence.

The next thing she proceeded to do was to unpack her things. Her skirts had been 'left' at the orphanage, so she used the dresser rather wisely, using the lower drawer to place her muggle shirts, the second to put her undergarments and the first to put her Hogwarts cloaks and uniforms. Then, she glanced around. Her dorm mates hadn't awoken yet, and to be frank, she hadn't expected them to. But all the same, she reminded herself to find some kind to silencing charm so that her alarm would never be heard. She was lucky last night had been a long night, and that they were still sleeping it off.

" _Colloportus_ ," she muttered, and the drawers locked themselves with a soft click such that no one could get in. She knew, of course, especially from prior experience, that a simple " _alohomora_ " would be able to unlock them. But banking on the hopes that none of them were capable of such spells just yet, she locked everything that needed to be locked with the simple locking charm, and told herself to, in addition to the silencing charm, find a suitable locking charm that would repel the " _alohomora_ ". For safety measures.

As she got on the ground to move her school books from the trunk to the chest, she found herself once again wishing she had magic capable of just sweeping her wand and causing all the books to fly into the chest, stacked in alphabetical order. But not yet, it seemed. She was still only capable of doing magic with single intentions - which was to say, she could levitate things, she could cast an undetectable extension charm (which took her all summer to learn, much to her displeasure), but she could not lift something and make it zoom across the room, for example, or cause things to happen with two intentions in mind. Those were two-tiered spells that she had read about in her father's rich green and silver journals, but she was incapable of performing them so far. So she laboured with shifting books from left to right, and then taking out her parchments and empty leather-bound journals that she had ended up buying after succumbing to their irresistible allure, her ink bottles and also a case made of hard wood that she had bought to protect the flimsy quills from being broken under the bulk of her textbooks into the desk drawer after unlocking it first. Of course, after a moment's hesitation, she moved several pieces of parchment, along with her textbooks, into the satchel she had brought, with one bottle of ink and three quills, leaving the fifth, sixth and seventh emergency quills - Mcgonagall had warned her that as a student at Hogwarts, she herself had gone through several quills in a single year, and Isadore was well aware that she did not have the world's best temperament, and it was more than likely she would go through quills like her poor wooden pencils who could get snapped several times in a year - in the drawer that was swiftly locked up after that. The drawer was also, in addition to the parchment papers, the quills, and the ink bottles, home to the couple of chocolate frogs she had not finished on the train. Just looking at them caused her stomach to growl, but Isadore ignored it in favour of a more promising and nutritious breakfast.

Unsure of what to do after that, for Athenon had flown in at one point and was already well asleep on his perch, she went to the common room. She thought she had the impression that the common room had been filled with shelves and shelves of books, and she was right. Running her hands down the spines of numerous numbers of well kept books that still looked new, she was submerged in her perusal of the right book.

But not for long.

"Hey, are you a firstie?" someone asked behind her. Isadore turned immediately, only relaxing when she recognised the female Ravenclaw who had led them up to their tower and dormitory last night. "Yeah," Isadore replied.

The girl raised her eyebrows in surprise. "I never took you for a morning person, to be honest. You were the only girl who wasn't stumbling as though she had two left feet last night, so I assumed you were a night owl," she said.

"Well, I never thought Ravenclaw would be lacking studious students, even at this time of hour," Isadore said. The Ravenclaw prefect laughed. "Oh, it wasn't always that way, until a muggle-born decided to defend why she was always late to class by saying that apparently, the statistics show that intelligent people are often night owls. After that, most of the Ravenclaws adopted that as their argument as to why they studied late and woke up late, too. Idiots. It's far more useful studying in the light of day," she told Isadore with a light laugh, "But its great for us early risers. Allows us the time to have an entire common room to ourselves without unnecessary distractions from the more idiotic of our house."

Isadore decided that she liked this girl.

"When is breakfast?" she asked. The Ravenclaw prefect shrugged. "Anytime you want, really. But usually, most people go at half past seven, so we're just lucky we live in a magical castle who has an unlimited food supply, or we would be fighting over the most delicious food," she said, "The chefs of this place are a godsend."

"Chefs?" Isadore asked. She was quite sure, especially after last night, that there weren't any chefs in this castle.

Only house elves.

"Yeah. Who else could possibly be the one preparing us our meals?" she asked. Isadore answered the question in her mind, but said nothing more about the subject, only filing that information away for later. Who knew that house elves were so elusive around the castle that even a Ravenclaw prefect did not know of its existence?

"What time do our lessons start?" Isadore asked.

"Eight thirty. Don't worry about not knowing what to bring. You're up early, so it will be easy for Flitwick to just hand you your schedule, and leave you with enough time to pack what to bring for your classes. You won't have all your classes in one day, and usually on the first day of school, teachers don't give you homework, so you should be quite alright. I'm Sonia, by the way. Sonia Lambert, muggle-born." Just as Isadore had expected, Sonia was holding out her hand, waiting to be shaken, but above her smiling face was a pair of shrewd eyes who were carefully calculating her next move, studying her posture, body language, and so on so forth.

So Isadore did something she had always previously felt unthinkable as her reply to this hidden challenge. She threw her arms around the other girl and hugged her, but bent her head so that her mouth was right in front of the other girl's right ear.

"Or do you mean Seraphina Bulstrode, pureblood?" she whispered, and immediately left the common room after, feeling the other girl's astonished gaze on the back of her neck, causing her spine to tingle.

She was hopelessly lost not to long after.

Immediately after leaving the common room, she had wanted to return and ask about where the library was. But that would have ruined a perfectly good storming out. So now, Isadore was just stuck out there, wondering where to go next.

Well aware that she still had about approximately two hours to make her way to the great hall, Isadore continued on her merry way in the general direction of the basement.


	4. chapter four

**chapter four**

As the air got colder and colder, Isadore knew that she was definitely not in the right place.

Certainly, unless the kitchens were in the freezer, there was absolutely no reason why the kitchens would be located in a place as cold as this. Who would purposefully want to place them in such torture of such a cold place, anyway? And so deep underground? Isadore thanked the heavens that Rowena Ravenclaw at least had some brains, enough to let the house reside high in the sky, with natural light all day long and real fresh air from the skies. This place did not seem like a very comfortable place to live.

There was a huge room made of stone that was exceedingly cold. Even with the gray uniform sweater pulled over a white button down, Isadore still felt cold. She wished she had brought her cloak along as she hurried deeper.

And soon, she reached the end of the passageway. It was a place with three cold stone walls. Isadore couldn't help herself. In a mixture of fear and anger and absolute annoyance that she must have wasted at least half an hour just walking around the merlin forbid and heartily irritating place, she pulled out her wand and used her wand to blast a reductor curse at the wall - not because she genuinely was angry at the wall and wanted to blast it to bits, but more because she was frustrated and that was the only spell she knew to use up a great deal of her magical reserve, as well as a huge part of her anger in the midst of her irritation.

And thinking that it was just a wall, she rose her wand, and blasted it hard at the stone wall in her fury and agitation. Had she not had magic, she would have controlled it. But she knew better than to control this - last time she tried, a whole empty row next to the second dining table burst in flames, vivid and filled with rage.

But apparently not enough.

The wall cried out in pain the instant the bright blue jet of light hit it. Part of it disintegrated immediately into rubble. Now, there was a deep hole in the wall that Isadore was not expecting, with a common room that was lit by a greenish light, with the entire house decorated in green and silver, with the several students of Slytherin who already awake at that time staring at her - really, the fact that there were more Slytherins than Ravenclaws was an embarrassment - with agape mouths.

She flushed.

"Sorry, umm, I'll just, umm..." Isadore muttered, biting her lip and flicking her wand, muttering "reparo" under her breath. A small part of the wall mended. But not all. Apparently, "reparo" worked a lot faster with the smaller objects.

"Damn it, girl," said the wall with a groan, "We just ended the second wizard war against the dark lord, and I am still mending from the ruckus and mess of the last war. Would you mind please not exploding me into smithereens again?" Isadore blinked.

"Yeah, sure," she muttered, flicking her wand and muttering "reparo" under her breath, again. But just like last time, only a small bit of sand and dust shaken out of the fallen stone pieced itself together again. Isadore was contemplating that perhaps it wasn't the size objects, but that magic only worked best on things that did not already have magic imbued in it.

One of the Slytherins walked up.

"Are you a first year?" he asked.

Isadore nodded, busying herself with fixing the wall, not looking the prefect in the eye. He nodded, then drew his wand, pointing it at the wall. "There is a faster way, but we have to do it together. Point your wand at the wall, and say "reparo totalum". Follow me."

Isadore nodded.

"On the count of three, two, and one," the Slytherin prefect said the last number, and in unison, they said the incantation. As the prefect had said, the sand and dust and stone remnants immediately put themselves together, and the wall that had initially been between them was built once again.

"Guess at least now I know where the Slytherin common room is," Isadore told the wall. For a moment, the wall did not respond.

"You won't be able to open the wall to enter the common room, though," said the wall, sounding like it was relishing the idea of her standing there and trying to force her way in.

"I don't need to," Isadore responded, "Would you like to be blasted one more time?" The wall seemed to pale a shade.

"No thanks. Yeah, I'll keep it open for you next time, yeah? Geez, why weren't you in Slytherin, girl? You've got the brains for it, devious little git," said the wall. It was an insult, but an irrational compliment at the same time, so Isadore smiled, and shrugged.

"There's a reason why I was a Hatstall last night, you know," Isadore said.

"So why didn't you come here?" the hat asked eagerly, wanting to hear the latest rumor to be spread around.

"I prize wisdom over ambition," said the girl. The wall was silent for a moment. "That's new. At least you're not another "noble" sort who acts like you're all above us because an embarassment to this house decided to trample all over our good name and start a world war against muggles and muggle-borns," the wall said.

The wall suddenly swung open, and the prefect from earlier came out.

"I heard your conversation, but honestly, I wish you were in Slytherin. I can't believe you managed to reduce our wall to rubble on your first day of school," he said, shaking his head.

"Ah, well, I practiced before coming," Isadore replied modestly, "And sorry about the wall, and disturbing you guys. I was just trying to find the kitchens, or a library, or anywhere that could help me find my way again. It appears I got lost wandering the castle."

"Well, you came to the right place," said the prefect, "I can bring you if you want."

So he led her around the school, telling her the different and notable places and classes which would no doubt have been difficult to navigate in other circumstances.

And ended the tour by dropping her off at the corridor past the great hall.

"I don't know where your common room, so I'm afraid you'll have to go back yourself," he said.

"You don't?" Isadore asked with a frown.

He shook his head, soft brown hair swept across his brow.

"No one is supposed to have even an inkling of the location of any common room except the common room of their own house. I think you'll be the only exception in this school because you found out only by accident," said he, smiling, "So I'll see you around, 'kay?" He headed for the great hall 'round the bend.

Isadore hesitated, before following him.

Professor Flitwick, who was apparently her head of house, handed her the schedule, along with several others, instructing her to give it to her room mates. Only after that did Isadore head back to the Ravenclaw common room.

Like the hat had said the night before, Isadore truly loved the the door knocker. The door knocker asked her a question, and all she had to do was come up with a witty but deep answer to be allowed in. At fist, the bronze eagle door knocker seemed reluctant to let her in, but after they enjoyed a verbal spar, it let her in with what felt like warmth. Or maybe it was just Isadore, feeling hot after making her brain think so much and so quickly.

Her dormitory was still quiet when Isadore let herself in, but Artemisia was awake, grumbling about having to wake up so early. Isadore handed her the schedule, and left her to do whatever she did in the mornings.

When Artemisia finally came down properly dressed in her Hogwarts - compared to Isadore's loosened tie, missing cloak and dark jeans - they went down to breakfast together. By that time, it was already eight, but thankfully, most people had left the great hall to pack their things, having already eaten, so Artemisia and Isadore enjoyed the food immensely, before heading straight for their first class with their school bags filled with new textbooks, quills, inks and parchment that were waiting to be used.

Charms was their first period of the day, and Professor Flitwick started with a roll call, so Isadore learned all the students' names, even if she did forget half of them a seconds later.

When he called out her name, she was surprised to see he nearly toppled down from the table he was standing at to look at everyone in the class. She wondered what that was about. Did everyone know who her father was? Hadn't he just given her the schedule earlier on? Why hadn't he reacted in such an extreme manner before?

When he got back onto the table, looking extremely flustered, his cheeks slightly reddish and his sharp pointed hat askew, he attempted to continue the lesson as though there had been no interruption, but Isadore could have sworn that he kept shooting her glances whenever he thought she wasn't looking. He had to be the first teacher she had ever had who did not mind the fact that her attention was clearly elsewhere in the class. The lesson was actually rather boring, nothing like the hands-on tasks that Isadore had been privately looking forward to, having thought that, with her parents' clear distinction in charms, it would be a subject she would find easy and fascinating. Here, she was proven dreadfully wrong. There was no denying that Professor Flitwick knew what he was doing - he spoke with the expertise and experience of one greatly versed in teaching - but she did not like lectures, and taking notes.

The other were boring. The classes she was interested in still focused mainly on the theory department, such as Defense against the dark arts, Charms and Transfiguration, and the classes she was not so interested in were even more tedious. Except Herbology - that was often a hands-on class and whilst it can be extremely muddy and frustrating for someone as particular about her cleanliness as Isadore, she was adaptable, and got used to the mess quickly enough. It was especially helpful that Professor Longbottom was a conscientious and agreeable teacher who always helped them out when they were in need, and the fact that they had their lessons with Hufflepuffs allowed the lesson to be rather peaceful without any snipes or interruptions from Gryffindors or Slytherins. Of course, a lot of the work were done in pairs, so Artemisia and Isadore often teamed up. The only class that involved a mix of practical and theoretical work was Potions, and although Artemisia was a horror at that, Isadore found herself excelling easily, resulting in the marked words of high praise by Professor Slughorn, who still seemed constantly surprised that the Rosier bloodline was yet to have died out, and lamenting why she hadn't been placed in Slytherin, to the displeasure of the Slytherin students in the Potions class.

Professor Binns classes were a nightmare. Isadore often left with a hand cramp because she spent every part of it trying to scribble down all the useful insights in which the old Professor Binns provided the class. He was a terribly dry teacher with no capability of capturing the attention of students, especially first years - not even Ravenclaws - but Isadore soon realised after forcing herself to stay awake with an attention-increasing potion she had created with Artemisia in Potions class, that in fact he offered plenty of useful information that their textbooks did not have, and before long, Isadore found it a requirement to brew a batch of such potions every week to ensure that she listened and jotted down every thing the professor said that was news to her - in other words, that she did not recall having read in her textbook. This gave her a very extensive set of History of Magic notes and bad cramps in her hand that made her hand feel numb and extremely painful, especially since you had to keep dipping your quill regularly into the ink bottle. It was very irritating, having to constantly re-dip every three to six words, since using the cheap gel pen provided at the orphanage did not require her to pause her writing every few words, and she did after all have a brain worthy of a Ravenclaw that ran so fast it was hard keeping up with the words she formed in her mind with a pen, not to mention a quill that needed re-dipping every few seconds. This was the cause of a great source of annoyance for Isadore. The other irritating thing was that at the end of every day, she always had to sharpen the nib of the two quills which she ran through very quickly - she liked to write hard - and always dry the nib after every lesson, but those other two quirks of the quill were easier to deal with, and as the days, weeks went by, it got easier to deal with, too.

As the days went by, Isadore, always the first one up, and the last to sleep - a good habit she had picked up from orphanage days and hadn't wanted to break, found herself finding her way around school in the early mornings, exploring. She found a great many secret passages, and even though she remembered little of where they truly were - the school was huge - she knew the rough idea of how to get from one place to another quickly, especially when running late.

At last, it seemed that Professor Goldstein was just as of theory and constant reminders of caution toward the dark arts, and at last, when they arrived, they found the classroom with desks and tables stacked to one side rather haphazardly, with the professor sitting at his usual teachers desk. He told them that it was "practical class" on that day, and told them to pair up and attempt to cast a simple leg-locker curse at one another, one at a time, something they had been preparing for since the beginning of the defense classes. Isadore found it easy - just one wave, and the intonation of the spell (locomoter mortis), and Artemisia was dropping to the ground with the sudden snap of her legs together, as though a rubber tied to both her legs had been pulled, and like a marionette before Isadore kindly casted the countercurse on her, and she scrambled to her feet, her cloak filled with dust from the ground she had fallen on, head first. She raised her wand and did the same thing, but to her dismay, Artemisia found herself unable to get immediate revenge owing to the fact that she simply did not have the same proclivity for defense as Isadore did, and ended up having to try the curse a total of fifteen times (Isadore counted because she was bored and proud) before she was capable of even performing a weak leg-locker curse, which ended in Isadore's legs flapping together and then springing apart again. It took them an entire period for her to at last master it, to Isadore's amusement, but she got her revenge alright, causing Isadore to hop into the desks which had been pushed against the walls. She fell with a huge groan, her head bumping into the desk right after her legs banged into the legs of the tables, which resulted in a bruise that sure enough sprang up the next day.

They had an unexpected Astronomy test the next day, and as expected, Isadore, who had not studied, found herself failing deplorably, to the amusement of the entire class. Professor Sinistra made it a point to explain to the entire class that only one person had failed, badly, and that person had clearly not been listening in class, either, with a pointed look at said person. Needless to say, Isadore found herself pulling up her socks after that.

Immediately after that bursting of her ego was Charms class, when Professor Flitwick instructed them to levitate the feather using the wand movements he had been stressing on the past week, and had even made them do an essay on the importance of wand movements. Isadore was, as expected, good at it, levitating it on her first try. She then taught Artemisia how to do it, much to the latters' hidden annoyance, and they managed to get both their feathers levitating in the end. However, there was a student who managed to someone turn the feather into a pile of feathery goo, to the disgust of the entire class. Professor Flitwick sighed as he vanished the thing with an "evanesco", and handed them another feather, which he seemed to have in abundance.

They were leaving the class, chatting together about the latest news of the unexpected sighting of dragons in the far north-west, when they usually stay in the wild in the south-eastern part of Europe, discussing what may have led to this odd predicament, when they chanced upon an unexpected visitor - the famous Harry potter, who was walking alongside their kind and friendly Herbology Professor, Professor Mcgonagall. Artemisia was about to walk past them without a second thought when Isadore reached out a hand and stopped her, pulling her roughly behind the statue of the Balfour the Benison, which was located around the bend near the charms class. They stood back to back, Artemisia looking rather startled, and she had opened her mouth, about to talk, much to Isadore's horror, when Harry Potter's voice carried down, and what he had to say stopped her.

"-Charlie said that they were let out of their cages in the Romanian Dragon Research Facility."

There was a short pause.

"Maybe the dragons broke out?" Professor Longbottom suggested.

"No, no, someone definitely let them out. The doors were locked shut, but they weren't destroyed, and there is no other way for the dragons to leave. On the way out, the dragons killed a total of five wizards. Charlie said he was lucky not to witness it - his boss had sent him out to get firewood, and told him to take his time. Under such circumstances, my first reaction would have been to interrogate his boss, especially since two of the five killed were wizards of England too, with families living in England, and mourning their deaths now, but _of course_ , his boss _had_ to die by the dragons' hands, or fires, too," Harry Potter said.

"What are you going to do now, then?" Professor Longbottom asked.

"Talk to Professor Mcgonagall. Apparently, one of the wizards who had witnessed the death of their boss had managed to survive with half of his face burned off by the flames of a Catalonian Fireball, but the healers in St. Mungos said he'd live, and allowed me to interrogate him. According to him, the boss had tried to send off a patronus, muttering something about Hogwarts being in danger, and his last words were "must not let you get to Hogwarts". I rather think that is very worrisome, and considering all that we've been through, we of all people should know that Hogwarts may be well protected, but it is not infallible, and the safety of our children is most important," Harry Potter said, "I'm going to try and convince Professor Mcgonagall to allow some aurors to protect the school instead."

There was a short pause. "Professor Mcgonagall is not going to like that," said Professor Longbottom, eventually, "You know her. She won't want to scare the students away."

There was a heavy sigh. "I understand that, but won't students and parents feel safer, knowing that aurors will be protecting the school?" Harry Potter asked, "I know I would."

"You would, but you're the Head of Aurors. You know you can trust the aurors. Other people, parents, they might think that bad things are going to befall Hogwarts, and it might be safer for them to keep their children at home, so they can watch over them," Professor Longbottom reasoned.

The sound of footsteps down a long stone corridor got increasingly louder.

"You know, a few years ago, I would have told you that was bullocks, that Hogwarts is the safest place in the world," Harry said, "Now, however...I think I get it. Every part of me is screaming to shield my sons and daughter from the world by keeping them with me at all times. But the experiences you go through with children is incredible. You should get children too, Neville. You're great with the kids, especially with all that experience dealing with crafty Hogwarts students at every turn."

They started to round the bend, at last, and Artemisia and Isadore couldn't help but hold their breaths, hoping they wouldn't catch sight of the two, standing and eavesdropping. They saw Professor Longbottom shake his head.

"I've had enough dealing with the devilish blights in this school, Harry. They're my kids, I don't need any more," Professor Longbottom replied.

Walking directly next to the statue as he rounded the bend, Professor Longbottom was only a wand's length away from them, and any closer would result in them getting detention for spying. Afraid that the two wizards would catch sight of them, being so close, Isadore quietly pushed open the door no one would have seen unless they knew explicitly it was there, and pushed Artemisia through the door before shutting the door behind them with a muffled thump.

For a moment, the two stood in silence, wondering if the two wizards had caught sight of them slipping through the door. When no one came after them, they heaved a sigh of relief, before Artemisia finally took in her surroundings.

"What is this place?" she asked in bewilderment.

"You are seriously lacking," Isadore exclaimed as they headed down the short flight of steps, "Didn't your siblings tell you? There are secret passageways and tunnels all around the school! How could you not know?"

Artemisia shook her head, clutching to her chest the numerous books that had not been able to fit into her slouch bag. "My two older siblings are all Ravenclaws and Ana even made prefect this year, so what did you expect?" she said.

"What do you think that meant, though?" Isadore asked, changing the subject, "What Harry Potter said? About dragons being released from Romania? Who the bloody hell would want dragons loose?"

"Some psychopathic egotistical wizard?" suggested Artemisia, "I don't know. I don't want to be involved, though. I mean, its _dragons_ we're talking about. They're huge and ferocious and frightening."

"That's not true," Isadore replied thoughtfully, "Sure, maybe they are all that, but only when threatened. I imagine they're pretty cool once they understood you're not trying to harm them."

Artemisia stared at her incredulously. "Are you insane? Dragons are bestial. They're humongous menaces. You wouldn't want a dragon for a pet, that's for sure," Artemisia said, before narrowing her eyes, "Would you?" There was a tinge of uneasiness in her eyes.

"Great idea," Isadore said cheerily instead, walking ahead of her, "I would love to have a dragon for a pet! I'll go sign up for a pet dragon in the dragon owner registry, and see if the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures will allow me to adopt a Peruvian Vipertooth."

Artemisia raised her arms to whack her books on Isadore's arm for the teasing remark, but Isadore narrowly dodged the books, and ran ahead again, laughter dancing in her eyes. But if anyone had cared to notice, Isadore's words genuinely had a note of sincerity in them.

 **I'm sorry its been a while since my last post, but I've been busy... All the same, I should truly have put in more effort to continue writing, so for that, I deeply apologise. Once again, it would be great for you to review if you have anything to say, as long as it is not hate mail. So... what do you think of this? I know its much shorter than the previous one, but like I said, I'm having a writer's block, and am desperately trying to find words in a drying inkwell... so it would be great if you could suggest places this story could go to... Thank you for reading this far :)**


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